Dorothy

"But," repeated the postmaster, suggestively; and Dorothy finished her sentence:

"I haven't talked a single word to anybody else, and it seems so good to do it now. I never had a secret – secrets, for I've got another one yet, that I can't tell – before and I don't like them. I beg your pardon, and – May I have my father's position?" said Dorothy, rising, and seeing by the big clock on the wall that she had long overstayed the time allotted for this interview.

The gentleman also rose, and laid his hand kindly upon her shoulder, but his face and voice were grave, as he answered:

"No, my dear, I am sorry to disappoint you, but you ask the impossible. You could not – But there's no use in details of explanation. As your wise father has taught you, business should be reduced to its simplest terms. I cannot give you the place, but I can, and do, give you the best of advice – for one of your imaginative nature. Never cherish secrets! Never, even such delightful, surprising ones, as this of yours has been. Especially, never keep anything from your mother. When anything comes into your mind which you feel you cannot tell her banish the idea at once and you'll stay on the safe side of things. Good-morning."

Other people were entering the private office and Dorothy was being courteously bowed out of it, before she fully realized that she had not obtained her desire, and never would. For a few seconds, her temper flamed, and she reflected, tartly:

"Huh! I should make as good a postman as lots of them do. My father says some of them are too ignorant for their places. I'm not ignorant. I'm the best scholar in my class, and my class is the highest one in our Primary. I could do it. I could so. But – Well, he was real nice. He acted just as if he had little girls of his own and knew just how they felt. He laughed at me, but he didn't laugh hateful, like Miss Georgia does on her 'nervous days' when she mixes me all up in my lessons. And anyhow, maybe it's just as well. If I'd got to be a letter-girl I couldn't have gone to the country with father and mother, and I should have about died of lonesomeness without them. Maybe Mrs. Bruce wouldn't have had me, nor the minister's folks either. Anyway, I've got that other, more splendid secret, still. I have to have that, because I have it already, and so can't help. Miss Georgia would say that there were two too many 'haves' in that sentence, and the 'two too' sounds funny, too. Now I must go home. I've got my money-letter all right and, after all, I'm glad mother Martha doesn't know that I wanted father's beat, she'd be so much disappointed to know how near we came to staying here and couldn't."

With which philosophic acceptance of facts and a cheerful looking forward to the "next thing," the rejected seeker after public office ran up the hill leading from the post-office and straight against another opportunity, as it were.

Just as she had signalled a car, the "gentleman" who had twice called upon her and who had told her that his name was "John Smith," appeared beside her on the sidewalk, raised his hat, and with an engaging air exclaimed:

"Why, Miss Chester, how fortunate! I was just on the point of going to see you. Now, if you will go with me, instead, it will save time and answer just as well. We don't take this car, but another. My office is on Howard Street, and we'll walk till we meet a Linden Avenue car. This way, please. Allow me?"

But Dorothy shrank back from this overly pleasant man. It was with the same feeling of repulsion that she had experienced on each of their previous meetings, and which she had tried to conquer because of the great benefit he claimed he had sought her to bestow upon her.

Her next sensation was one of pride, remembering that this was the second time that morning for her to be called "Miss Chester." Each time it had been by a grown-up gentleman and the fact made her feel quite grown-up and important, also. Besides, this present person was able, he said, to more than compensate for any disappointment the postmaster had inflicted – though, of course, that affair was known only to "the head man of all" and herself. However, she couldn't accept Mr. Smith's invitation, for, she explained:

"Thank you, but I can't go with you now. I'm doing an errand for my mother and she'll be expecting me home. She's very busy and needs me to help her. Nor do I want to make her worry, for she has all the trouble now she can bear. The first time I can come, if you'll tell me where, I'll try to do so. Are you sure, sure, Mr. Smith, that I am really an heiress and you will help me to get the money that belongs to me?"

"Perfectly sure. A lawyer like me doesn't waste his time on any doubtful business. I have more cases on hand, this very minute, than I can attend to and ought not to stand idle here one moment. Don't, I beg of you, also stand in your own light, against your real interests and the interests of those who are dearer to you than yourself. It is very simple. As soon as you reach the office I'll give you paper and pen and you can send a message to your mother, explaining that you have been detained on business but will soon be with her. Ah, yes, the note by all means. It quite goes against my nature to cause anybody needless anxiety. Here's our car. Step in, please."

As she obeyed Dorothy thought that she had never heard anybody talk as fast as the man did. Faster even than she did herself, and with an assured air of authority which could not fail to impress an obedient child, trained to accept the decisions of her elders without question. She still tightly clutched the envelope containing the precious ten-dollar bill, and had so nervously folded and unfolded it that, by the time they reached the place on North Howard Street, it was in such a state she was ashamed of it.

"Right up stairs, Miss Chester. Sorry I haven't an elevator to assist you," remarked the lawyer, curiously regarding her feet in their poor shoes. "However, there are plenty willing to climb three flights of stairs for the sake of my advice. I've been in business right here in Baltimore longer than I care to remember – it makes me feel so old. Lawyers who have lovely young clients prefer to remain young themselves, you know."

"No, I don't know. I know nothing about lawyers, anyway, and I don't like it in here. I was never in such a dark house before. I – I think I won't stay. I'll go home and tell my mother everything. That's what the other gentleman advised and I – I liked him. Good-bye," said the now frightened girl, and turned about on that flight to the third story.

But Mr. Smith was right behind her. She'd have to brush past him to descend the narrow stairway, and he was again chattering away, pretending not to hear her objections, but glibly explaining:

"The reason the house is so dark is because it is so old – one of the oldest in the city, I've been told. Besides, each floor has been turned into a flat, or suite of offices, and the tenants keep their doors closed. That's why I chose the top story for my own use – it's so much lighter, and – Here we are!"

Here they were, indeed, but by no stretch of imagination could the apartment be called light. There was a skylight over the top of the stairs, but this was darkened by gray holland shades, and though there appeared to be three rooms on this floor, the doors of all were closed as the doors on the floors below.

Dorothy was trembling visibly, as her guide opened the door of the middle room – the "dark one" of the peculiarly constructed city houses – and she faced absolute blackness. But her host seemed to know the way and to be surprised that nobody was present to receive them. With exclamations of annoyance he hurried to light a single gas jet and the small flame illumined a dingy, most untidy "office."

Yet still with a grand flourish of manner the lawyer pushed a chair before a littered desk, rummaged till he found paper, ink, and pen, and waved his small client toward it. She was almost in tears, from her fright; yet still bolstered her courage with the thought: "For my father and mother!" and resolved to see the business through.

Certainly no such gentlemanly appearing person could intend injury to an unprotected child. Why should she imagine it?

Drawing the paper toward her she began to write and had quickly finished the brief note which told her mother as much, and no more than, her instructor had prescribed. He had kept his eyes rather closely fixed upon the wrinkled envelope she held, and now carelessly remarked:

"You could send that letter home with your note, too, if you wish, though you'll be detained only a little while. I don't see why that witness I spoke of hasn't come. I do hate a dilatory client! Will she need it, do you think?"

"She might. I will send it, I guess," answered poor Dorothy, and giving the folded envelope still another twist, enclosed and sealed it in her own note which she handed to her "lawyer."

He took it, hastily, and informed her that he would "just trip down those troublesome stairs and find a messenger boy, then be back in a jiffy."

As he reckoned time a "jiffy" must have meant several hours; for the whole day had passed and still he had not returned.

CHAPTER VIII

TENANTS FOR NO. 77

"Oh! do get out of the way, Ma'am Puss! What possesses you to be always under foot? If you're looking for your little mistress she's not here, She's gone away down town on business," cried Mrs. Chester to the cat, as she stumbled over the creature for the third time in about as many minutes.

The animal's behavior annoyed her. For some time it had kept up an intermittent and most doleful mewing and, as if seeking some precious thing no longer to be found, it had wandered in and out of corners in a nerve-distracting way.

The house mistress herself was almost as uneasy as the cat, and she had endured about all the mental strain she could without collapse; or, at least, venting her overtaxed patience upon somebody. Ma'am Puss happened to be the "somebody" most convenient, and with a fresh sinking of her spirits, Martha Chester recalled the many frolics her husband, as well as daughter, had had with their pet. Would anything in her life ever be again as it had been!

Sitting down in the nearest chair, for a moment, the lonely woman took the sleek maltese into her arms and held it close, stroking its fur affectionately, and in a manner to surprise the recipient of this most unusual attention. For Martha didn't like cats; and the only reason Ma'am Puss was tolerated on her premises was because she liked rats and mice still less. But now she not only petted but confided to the purring feline the fact:

"Dorothy has been gone four hours, and I'm dreadfully worried. At the longest she shouldn't have been gone more'n two, even if there was a hold-up on the car line. Besides, she wouldn't have waited for such a thing, anyway. She'd have started home on her own feet, first, for she's a loving child and knows I need her help. That money-letter! I'm afraid somebody's waylaid her and took it away. It wasn't so much – to some people – but ten dollars? Why, Puss, a man was murdered out Towson way for less than that, not so long ago! I wish she'd come. Oh! How I wish she'd come!"

But Dorothy did not come. There was no sign of her on the street, no matter how many times the anxious watcher ran to the door and looked out; and the four hours were fast lengthening into five when the first change came to divert Mrs. Chester's thoughts, for the time being, from her terrible forebodings. As she gazed in one direction for the sight of a blue gingham frock a cheerful voice called to her from another:

"Howdy, Mis' Chester? Now ain't I brought you the greatest luck? Here's my sister-in-law, without chick nor child to upset things, and only a husband that's night watchman – is going to be – come right here to Baltimore an' is looking for a house. Firm he's worked for is putting up a new factory, right over in them open lots beyond an' nothin' to do but he must take care of 'em. This is my sister-in-law, Mis' Jones, Mis' Chester. I was a Jones myself. Well, they're ready to rent or buy, reasonable, either one; and I reckon it's a chance you won't get in a hurry – no children, too! What you say?"

For a moment Martha could say nothing, except to bid her callers enter the house and to place them comfortably in the cool parlor; and even her first remark bore little on the subject Mrs. Bruce had presented. Handing fans all round she ejaculated:

"It's so terrible hot! I'm all beat out – picking up and – and worrying."

"Well, to get your house off your hands so sudden'll be one worry less," comforted Mrs. Bruce, fanning herself vigorously and looking as if such a thing as anxiety had never entered her own contented mind.

"I – I just stepped 'round to the drug-store, a spell ago, and telephoned to three real-estate men to come up an' look things over. I – Why, it's only Monday morning, and I've got a whole week yet. I mean – It seems so sudden. I've got to see John – No, I haven't. It seems dreadful to take such steps, do business without him, which I never have, but the doctors – How much rent'd you be willing to pay, Mis' Jones?"

Poor Mrs. Chester was strangely distraught. Her neighbor, the plumber's wife, had never seen her like this, but she understood some part of what the other was suffering, though, as yet, she was ignorant of Dorothy's prolonged absence; and she again tried to console:

"I know just how you feel. Havin' slaved so long to pay for the house, out of a postman's salary, an' him an' you bein' such a happy contented couple – Don't doubt I'm feelin' for you an' wantin' to lend a hand, if so be I can. As to rent, there ain't never no houses on this one-hunderd block of Brown Street to rent. We both know that, 'cause it's the nicest kept one, with the prettiest back yard anywhere's near. No negro houses in the alleys, neither. So, course, this is a splendid chance for Bill and Jane; but I asked Mr. Bruce an' he said twenty dollars a month was fair and the goin' rates."

Mrs. Chester listened with still greater dismay. At the utmost she had expected the watchman would offer no more than fifteen dollars, but twenty! The highest rate she had looked to receive from anybody. Of course she wanted to rent – she had now fully decided not to sell – but to succeed so promptly, was almost like having the ground taken from beneath her feet.

At last she forced herself to say:

"I know it's a good chance. I'm not unmindful it's a neighborly thing in you, Mrs. Bruce, or that Mrs. Jones'd make a good tenant. I'm – Well, I'll try to give you your answer some time to-night. Will that do?"

Mrs. Bruce rose and there was some asperity in her tone as she returned:

"I s'pose it'll have to do, since you're the one to pass the word. But we'll look round, other houses, anyway. My folks have left their old place an' this week's the only idle one Bill'll have. He wants to help Jane settle – she ain't overly strong – and they'd like to move in a-Wednesday, or Thursday mornin' at the latest."

"So – soon!" gasped the mistress of No. 77. Despite her will a tear stole down her cheek and her warm-hearted neighbor was instantly moved to greater sympathy. Laying her fat hand on Mrs. Chester's bowed head she urged:

"Keep up your spirit, Martha. If you just rent, why you know you can come back any time. A month's notice, give an' take, that's all. I'm hopin' John'll get well right away, an' you'll all come flyin' back to Baltimore. By the way, where's Dorothy? Mabel said she wasn't goin' to school no more."

"Oh, Mrs. Bruce, I don't know! I don't know!" and the anxious mother poured out her perplexities in the ear of this other mother, who promptly said: