CHAPTER VIII.
DOLLIE MEETS AN ADMIRER.
“Hello, Central! Give me 4079 Cortlandt! Hello! Is this the Star office? Well, I want Mr. Horton, the city editor.”
Miss Allyn was sitting at the telephone in the drug store, while her two friends waited with their kind benefactor.
In spite of her wrapper and slippers Miss Allyn had insisted upon telephoning. The reportorial habit was too strong to be resisted, and furthermore, it was not often she could get an “exclusive” on such a magnificent news item.
“Hello!” she called again. “Is this the New York Star editorial rooms? Oh, howd’y do, Mr. Horton? This is Alma Allyn.”
Here followed the news item with true newspaper brevity, Miss Allyn giving such a graphic account of the fire and her rescue that her audience burst out laughing.
“Call me ‘Jane Doe,’ or any old thing, Mr. Horton,” she wound up, briefly, “only see that I get an ‘exclusive’ on this. I’m sorry for the fellow at headquarters, but this is mine by rights, I was right ‘in it,’ you know, so it’s bound to be authentic.”
There was a moment’s silence and then Miss Allyn laughed.
“You’d believe it if you could see me. I’m in my wrapper and slippers, and, oh, yes, just stick this in, we have all three just been invited to spend the night at the home of Samuel Haley, of the Central Mission.”
“Oh, no!” gasped the astonished gentleman, who was standing with her friends.
“Can’t be helped now,” said Miss Allyn, calmly, as she “rang off” her telephone.
“How did you know me?” asked the gentleman, as they started out.
“Why, it popped into my head at that minute,” said Miss Allyn, laughing. “I’ve seen you often, it’s funny I didn’t recognize you directly.”
Only a short walk from the drug store and the gentleman stopped before a neat apartment-house.
He opened the door with his latch key and rang his bell vigorously.
At the top of the first flight of stairs a sweet-faced woman met them. She did not seem in the least surprised at her three strange visitors.
“Some young ladies who have just been burned out of house and home, Lizzie,” said her husband, smilingly. “I guess we can put them up somehow for the night, can’t we?”
“Bless their hearts, of course we can,” was the motherly answer, and the girls were ushered into her apartments without any further ceremony.
“Now this is what I call downright charity,” said Marion, as soon as the three girls were alone. “Did you ever in your life see such kindness, Miss Allyn?”
They had all had warm baths and a cup of tea, and each had been provided with suitable clothing.
“These two people are brimming over with charity,” said Miss Allyn, quickly. She was making herself comfortable for the night on a wide sofa, so that the two sisters could sleep in the bed together.
“He’s a city missionary and a genuinely good man. There never was a better, if all I’ve heard of him is true, and his wife is a mother to every poor girl in creation.”
“That’s downright goodness,” said Dollie, firmly. “Half the church people don’t do it, nor the ministers either.”
“Such goodness as this puts the many professing Christians to the blush,” said Miss Allyn, with energy. “There’s no cant and no hypocrisy in Samuel Haley’s religion.”
Bright and early the next morning Miss Allyn started out. Her hostess loaned her some clothing that had been contributed to the mission, and which would go there as soon as Miss Allyn was done with it.
“I guess I’m an object of charity if ever there was one,” said Miss Allyn, when she was arrayed in them. “However, I’ll be richer by noon by the looks of that paper.”
She handed Marion a morning edition of the New York Star, and there, sure enough, was a full account of the fire and the words “Marion Marlowe’s Heroism” in such big letters that it made the young girl blush to look at them.
Then there were pictures of the fire showing the scene on the window ledge and another which demonstrated how she had pushed Miss Allyn to safety. Altogether it was an array of information which almost staggered her.
“How in the world could they do it so quickly?” she asked her hostess, but before she was answered, there was an unexpected interruption.
A young man came into the room, whom Mrs. Haley introduced as her nephew, Ralph Moore. He was a dark-eyed, curly-haired young fellow, with charmingly courteous manners.
While Marion talked with Mrs. Haley, Ralph Moore and Dollie chatted together. The young man was smitten at once with the country girl’s pretty features.
“You will let me come and see you, wherever you go, won’t you?” he asked eagerly, as Dollie finished telling him of their experiences at the fire.
Dollie blushed a little, but she promised readily. He was so handsome and agreeable it made her heart flutter to look at him. Before noon their friendship had made rapid headway, for Mrs. Haley and Marion were too busy planning to heed them.
When Miss Allyn came in at noon she had joyful news. The paper had not only paid her well for her excellent story of the fire, but they had given her an extra fifty-dollar bill to help her recuperate from the loss of her wardrobe.
“Now we’ll go and find some more furnished rooms,” she said, gayly, “and you girls must let me pay your bills until my wealth is gone; meanwhile who knows what may turn up—you may marry millionaires or something.”
“How good you are,” cried Marion, with tears in her eyes.
“You had better do it, my dear,” said Mrs. Haley, kindly. “She is so sweet in offering it, you must not refuse her, then when your fortune has changed you can find some way to repay her.”
“And meanwhile, I shall never forget your kindness, Mrs. Haley,” said Marion, “and I am coming to see you often if you will let me.”
“My door is always open and my heart, too,” said Mrs. Haley, laughing. “I am a mother to everybody, or at least that is what they say of me.”
“You are, indeed,” said Marion, kissing her, “and now we must leave you and go with Miss Allyn.”
When Dollie parted from Ralph Moore she was shyer than ever, for the young man’s admiration was so plain that it embarrassed her.
“They’ve been spooning, I’ll bet,” said Miss Allyn, with a wink. “You’d better look out, Dollie, or I’ll put it in the paper.”
“Good-by, Miss Dollie,” said young Moore with a sly pressure of her hand, “and remember, you have promised to let me come and call. Don’t wait too long before sending your address or I shall be rude enough to hunt you up and take the chance of being scolded.”
“I guess I wouldn’t scold,” said Dollie, blushing, “but you must make friends with my sister, she is the ogre of the family.”
“She is the bravest girl in the world, and you are the sweetest,” whispered Mr. Moore, gallantly. “I only wish I was something besides a poor book-keeper, for then I might be able to help you.”
Dollie smiled her thanks, but there was no time to say more, for the others were waiting for her to join them.
Once more they started out in search of furnished rooms, but thanks to Miss Allyn’s knowledge of the city, they were soon comfortably settled.
“I’ll just run out and get some bread and milk,” said Marion, about dusk. “That will do very nicely for our supper, Dollie, for Miss Allyn will be away and I hate to spend her money. Until one of us gets work I shall be as economical as possible.”
When Marion reached the street she saw that they were only two blocks from the scene of the fire, so she walked over to look at the ruins.
“Oh, Marion, I’m so thankful you are not burned up. I was nearly crazy when I saw the paper this morning.”
Marion turned around quickly and saw Bert Jackson running after her.
“Oh, Bert, I’m so glad to see you,” was her cordial answer. “We have a room at 228, do go right over. I’ll be back just as soon as I get something for supper.”
“I guess I will,” said Bert, quickly, “for I’m keeping pretty shady nowadays, Marion; I don’t dare stay in the street for fear Matt Jenkins may be after me.”
He ran over to the house and Marion hurried to the grocery. She was just coming out with her bread and milk when she came face to face with a half-drunken fellow.
“Ah there, my beauty,” said the fellow, impudently, as he caught sight of Marion. “Bless your pretty face. I’ve seen you somewhere before. Great Scott, but you’re a stunner. I’d like to kiss you.”
“How dare you!” cried Marion in a frightened voice. “Let me pass at once, sir, or I will call a policeman.”
The fellow drew back and Marion darted past him like a flash.
“Where in the world have I seen him?” she muttered to herself. “There’s something familiar about him, and yet I can’t place him.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE GIRLS LOSE A FRIEND.
When Marion returned to her room she found Bert and Dollie chatting merrily.
“Oh, Marion, what do you think? Poor Bert was almost arrested last night. The dress you loaned him came near being the death of him,” cried Dollie, gayly.
Marion looked at Bert with a questioning glance.
“A ‘cop’ followed me two blocks,” he said, with a grin, “but I took to my heels and he was too fat to catch me.”
“Oh, my goodness,” cried Marion, with a burst of laughter. “How you must have looked, Bert. I wish I could have seen you. I can just imagine Miss Ray’s long dress getting over the ground at the speed you would carry it.”
“And with a big, fat policeman in hot pursuit,” cried Dollie; “but he didn’t catch you, and that’s the best of it. It must, have surprised him to see a woman such a good runner.”
“He knew I was a man all right,” said Bert, “and I guess he would recommend me as a first-class ‘sprinter.’ Well, after I had eluded him, I went into a little ‘junk-shop’ on First avenue, and bought a cap and jacket; of course they were pretty cheap ones, but I was glad to get them. I was mighty sick of masquerading.”
“But didn’t they know your voice was not a woman’s where you bought the things?” broke in Dollie, excitedly.
“Oh, that Jew wouldn’t have cared if I had been a dime museum freak. All he wanted was my money. He didn’t ask any questions.”
“And what then?” asked Marion, who was very much interested.
“Then I sneaked into an alley and made a ‘lightning change,’” said Bert, laughing, “and I’ve got your swell clothes, Marion, all carefully done up in a bundle.”
“And you went to the little boarding-house?” asked Marion, again.
“Sure,” said Bert, “and I’ve got a receipt for a week’s board in advance in my pocket. Now if I could only get a job I’d be all right,” he said, cheerfully, “unless the Poor Farm people keep on chasing me around the city.”
“They are mighty interested in you, Bert,” said Dollie, slowly. “Other boys have run away and they did not chase them.”
“That’s just it,” said Bert, quickly. “Matt Jenkins is scared to death. He’s lost so many boys that he’ll lose his job next, that is why he is trying so hard to find some of his truants.”
Marion had put the bread and milk on the table, making a place for Bert, and as they all ate their frugal meal she glanced over the evening paper.
“Here is a mention of our beloved aunt and uncle in the society columns,” she said, scornfully. “I wonder if they have ever repented of their hard-heartedness to their poor niece.”
Bert and Dollie stared at her as she hastened to explain.
“Mother’s sister Susan is living at ‘The Norwood,’ a fine apartment-house here in the city, and when I came to New York in search of Dollie, I called on them and asked them to help me.”
“And they were mean enough to refuse?” asked Bert, indignantly.
“Were they!” cried Marion, her eyes snapping angrily. “Why, they were so shocked at my suggestion that they came near dying on the spot of sheer mortification.”
“A couple of empty-headed pugs,” said Bert, disgustedly, “but anyhow, you didn’t need ’em. You found Dollie all right, Marion.”
“Here’s a dreadful thing,” exclaimed Marion, after a minute. “A boy of sixteen run over by a cable car. He was killed almost instantly, and they have taken him to the morgue. Unless some one claims him he’ll be buried in Potter’s Field.”
“Poor chap,” said Dollie, with tears in her eyes. “He may have been a country boy who was not familiar with the city.”
“The cars are awful,” said Marion, with a sigh. “I always hold my breath when I start over a crossing.”
There was a tap on the door and the maid announced a caller. Marion looked at the card, and then handed it to Dollie.
“Ralph Moore,” read Dollie, with the blood mantling her pretty face. “Shall we ask him to come upstairs? There is no other place to see him.”
Marion stopped a moment and glanced at the table, where the remnants of their frugal supper were still standing.
“Yes, tell him to come up,” she said, very firmly. “He may as well see us as we are, then there will be no misunderstanding.”
At ten o’clock promptly the two young men left, with Dollie and Mr. Moore more in love than ever.
“I think he is quite the nicest young man I ever saw,” said Dollie, candidly. “Don’t you think so, yourself? Now be honest, Marion.”
“He is very nice,” said Marion, quietly, “but I’m almost afraid he is a little wild, not a bit like Mr. Ray who is so steady and settled.”
“Pooh,” said Dollie, laughing. “I’m glad he is a little gay. I’d awfully hate to have a pokey man around. I’d rather they’d be wild so long as they are not wicked.”
“Well, we won’t quarrel about them,” said Marion, smiling. “We have something else to do besides worrying about lovers.”
“But we will both have lovers some day I hope,” said Dollie, sighing. “This world would be a dreadfully dull old place if it wasn’t for the sweetness of love and lovers.”
“You have Silas Johnson,” she said, a little mischievously. “Do you know I can’t understand Silas yet, little sister. I feel that there is something else besides the mortgage that is worrying Silas.”
“I was surprised that he should ask me to marry him,” said Dollie, sadly. “Men like father and Silas are always unforgiving where women are concerned.”
Marion looked at her tenderly. “Never mind about them, little sister,” she said very softly. “There is sadness and sorrow enough, Heaven knows. I only hope that we may some day find some one to love and to love us.”
As she spoke Marion put her arms around Dollie’s waist and laid her head a trifle wearily on the plump, white shoulder.
It was a pretty picture of sisterly devotion, which only their guardian angels witnessed. They were alone in New York, without money or friends, except one poor girl whose heart was bigger than her purse, but who divided with them her every penny gladly.
There was a step on the stairs as the girls extinguished their light, then an agonized voice called to them through the key-hole:
“Girls! Girls! Let me in for just one minute, do!”
Marion opened the door quickly, and admitted Miss Allyn.
“Girls, my mother is dead and I’ve got to go home,” said the little reporter, brokenly.
The next moment she was sobbing on Marion’s shoulder.
CHAPTER X.
A DEED OF VALOR.
It was the day following Miss Allyn’s departure to her distant home, and Marion Marlowe was once more making the rounds of the city.
As she stood before the door of a handsome brown-stone residence her brain was teeming with some hitherto almost unknown sensations.
Why was it that some should have so much and others so little? Why should she be so utterly destitute of even the necessaries of life, while others were basking idly in the sunshine of luxury? The memory of that hateful mortgage had not left her day or night, yet as the weeks passed by they left her worse off than ever. She could now hardly afford to buy food for her sister and herself.
Since Miss Allyn’s departure Dollie had worried herself sick and was now lying at home, ill with an obstinate slow fever. Good Mrs. Haley had helped them all she could, but her husband was poor and the demands upon them were enormous.
Marion groaned to think of being obliged to call upon her for anything.
As the door of the handsome house swung open Marion stepped wearily into the hall, where she was asked by a haughty butler to state her errand to his mistress.
“She advertised for a governess,” said Marion, plaintively, “and I have an excellent education, I feel sure that I could suit her.”
“Know French and German?” asked the man in a hard voice. “Can you teach the Delsarte method and play the piano?”
Marion stared at him for a second.
“The advertisement reads that Mrs. Van Siegen will pay only $20 per month,” she said faintly. “Is it possible she expects any such accomplishments for that money?”
“Certainly,” said the butler with a pompous wave of his hand. “She not only expects it, but she’ll doubtless get it. There’s hundreds that will jump at the position which she offers.”
“Poor things. Well, they are welcome to it,” said Marion, with a sigh. “There must be people worse off than I am in the city.”
She went out of the house with dull despair in her heart. This bit of information had set her thinking.
If women with such accomplishments were willing and glad to work for such money, it was plainly to be seen that there was little hope for her, with only a thorough New England school education.
“What shall I do?” she whispered as she turned toward home. “I haven’t a dollar in the world, and poor Dollie is ill and suffering.”
It was almost dark, still Marion walked along slowly. She had been so far that day that she felt lame and weary.
As she reached Union Square she started through the park, hoping that a glimpse of the grass and trees would rest her a little.
It was the middle of September, and the fountain, was still playing. There were people on all the benches and the walks were swarming with children.
Suddenly Marion saw a sight that made her blood boil with anger. She stood still staring for a moment, hardly able to believe it.
Some big boys had found a poor little yellow dog, and were amusing themselves by throwing it into the basin of the fountain and then letting it swim out, only to compel it to repeat the operation.
The dog was trembling with fear and looked utterly wretched, and Marion noticed that it was lame and limping.
In an instant she was in the very midst of the group of urchins, her fair face ablaze with indignation.
“Shame on you, boys, for tormenting the poor dog,” she said, sternly. “Can’t you see that it is lame, and sick, and frightened? How would you like to be thrown into the fountain yourselves? Do let the poor thing go and don’t be so cruel.”
“Aw, come off your perch,” said one of the biggest boys, saucily, as he made a grab for the dog, just as it clambered up over the basin.
“Don’t you dare do that again,” cried Marion, who was now furious.
The boy grinned in her face as he caught the dog and threw it with all his might into the very centre of the fountain.
What followed was a surprise to every occupant of the benches, and as for the boys, their eyes almost popped out of their heads in wonder.
As quick as a flash Marion caught the big boy by the collar. Her grip was like iron, for she was in deadly earnest.
The next second she had lifted him completely off his feet, and with a terrific effort, flung him head first into the water.
Then catching up the poor little dog, all dripping, in her arms, she started for the street, as if nothing had happened.
A roar of delight went up from every spectator of the scene, and as for the boys, they jeered and laughed at their companion, shouting their approval of Marion’s skill in the regular street gamin manner.
“That was well done, miss,” said a big policeman, who had overtaken Marion as she was leaving the park. “I was up at the other end, or I’d have put a stop to their capers, but you did just right.” He was shaking with laughter.
“What can I do with the dog, so they won’t get it again?” asked Marion, who was still scarlet with indignation.
The officer turned around and beckoned to a good-natured but seedily dressed man.
“Here, Bill, take this dog over to the society’s rooms,” he said shortly, “and there’s a quarter to pay you for your trouble.”
Marion thanked them both and hurried away. Her heart was lighter for having done even a poor street dog a kindly service.
Just as she reached her home a gentleman rushed up to her. It was young Ralph Moore, looking worried and anxious.
“You are in awfully hard luck, aren’t you, Miss Marlowe?” he said, rapidly, “and poor Dollie is sick. Oh, you don’t know how I pity you.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do,” said Marion, sadly. “I am on our last dollar, and the rent is due to-morrow.”
Mr. Moore stood in silence for just a minute, then he turned to Marion again, his face flushing with emotion.
“I will be back in an hour or two, at the most, Miss Marlowe,” he said, hastily. “Something has got to be done. I can’t see poor Dollie suffer.”
“Oh, what do you mean?” began Marion.
Mr. Moore cut her short with an impulsive explanation.
“I mean that I must help Dollie in some way or other, for I love her, Miss Marlowe, please tell her that I love her.”
CHAPTER XI.
EMILE VORSE IS CAUGHT AT LAST.
In less than two hours Ralph Moore came back and astonished Marion by handing her one hundred dollars.
He was as pale as a corpse, but was unusually calm. There was not a tremor in his voice when he urged her to accept it.
“Never mind where I got it,” he said, with a slight smile, “only promise me, Miss Marlowe, that you will say nothing about it. You see, my aunt and uncle might think I came by it dishonestly.”
“Oh, I am sure they would not,” said Marion, a bit startled. “I am sure they would be the last to accuse you of dishonesty.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Moore with another strange smile: “I’ve been a bit wild, and ‘once give a dog a bad name’—you know the rest, Miss Marlowe.”
“I would trust you anywhere,” said Marion, firmly. “Your heart is too good, you could never do wrong, I am certain.”
“If I did it would be with a good motive,” said the young man again, “but I must go now, Miss Marlowe, and I would so like to see poor Dollie.”
“You shall see her,” said Marion, “for she is sitting up to-night. I think she has been better since she got your message.”
She smiled at him slyly, and the young man blushed like a girl. When he entered the room, and had greeted Dollie, Marion discreetly retired for a few minutes.
“Dollie, dear Dollie, can you love me?” whispered Mr. Moore softly, as he went straight to the young girl who was bundled in wraps on the sofa.
“I do love you,” murmured the girl with a rosy blush. “I think I loved you when I first saw you, and oh, I am so perfectly happy.”
Mr. Moore put his arms around her and kissed her lips softly.
“And you will stick to me, Dollie?” he urged, very tenderly. “You won’t go back on me, even though I am a little frisky?”
“I’d hate to have you any other way,” admitted Dollie, frankly. “Yes, I will stand by you, Ralph, no matter what happens.”
“It is awful to be poor when you are in love and want to get married,” said the young man, sadly, after they had both said over and over that they should always love each other. “Oh, I do so hate this waiting until one can afford to marry, but I know it is sensible, don’t you think so, dearest?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Dollie, who was a very practical little woman. “We must wait patiently, Ralph, until we are both better off, and then, you know, I am very young—really I am not old enough to marry.”
She blushed a fiery red as she said the words, for there was a secret in her soul that was weighing very heavily.
Should she tell him that awful experience through which she had passed? She knew it would be honorable, but she could not do it, at least just then.
Marion returned at that moment, so the love scene ended. In a few moments Mr. Moore was obliged to leave them.
“When shall I see you again, Ralph?” asked Dollie, pouting a little. “Here you are, going away without saying a word about returning.”
The young man was standing with his hat in his hand, and for a second he seemed a little disconcerted.
Recovering himself, he said, with a tender glance:
“I shall come to-morrow, if possible, Dollie. If I don’t it will be business of importance that detains me.”
“Good-night, then,” she murmured, and her lover bent over her once more. He kissed her fondly in spite of Marion’s presence.
“I can never thank you enough for your kindness,” said Marion, following him to the door, “but some day I hope I shall be able to do you as great a favor.”
“You have done it already,” said Ralph Moore, earnestly. “You have sanctioned Dollie’s promise to marry me some day, and I can’t begin to tell you how I thank you.”
After he had gone Marion told Dollie the good news. For another month they could live in comparative comfort.
“I wonder where he got it,” was Dollie’s natural comment.
Marion sighed a little as she answered absently:
“It is one more debt of gratitude that I owe. When, oh, when, will I ever be able to repay them?”
The first thing the next morning Marion secured a doctor for Dollie. His bill was exorbitant, but she paid it ungrudgingly.
Her next move was to rent another typewriting machine, for she was hopeful that by this means Dollie might be able to earn her living.
“Of course it is a risk,” she argued to herself, “but it will amuse her when she is better, and she may be able to secure a position in an office when she has become proficient.”
As the days passed by the hundred dollars seemed to melt away, and Marion redoubled her efforts to secure employment.
Mr. Moore came in every evening and tried to cheer them up, but the girls could see that he was often dispirited, although his manner was always courteous and affectionate. It was growing colder now and both girls needed new clothing, so this demand upon their capital diminished it still farther.
“If I was only well enough to look for work, too,” Dollie would say every day, but, in spite of Marion’s care she was still weak and ailing.
One night, when the winds were biting and the sky was laden with chilly mist, Marion was hurrying home from another day of fruitless searching.
A carriage passed her with its lanterns glowing brightly, and, as Marion gave a sharp glance into the vehicle, she saw her aunt and uncle leaning back in the cushions.
“Oh, this is horrible! horrible!” she whispered to herself. “They are fairly rolling in wealth, while their own nieces are starving.”
She turned into a side street and hurried along. Right in the middle of a dark block two men confronted her.
“Ha! So I have met you again, my beauty,” said a hateful voice which Marion recognized instantly. It was the man who had accosted her once before in a similar manner.
“You’re just the girl we were hoping to meet. Come on, little sweetheart, and we’ll treat you royally.”
There was not a person to be seen in the block, and the long rows of houses looked dark and gloomy.
Marion gave a quick glance around and then uttered a shrill cry as she felt the man’s hand fall familiarly on her shoulder.
“Don’t you dare to touch me, you scoundrel!” she almost screamed. “Oh, why is it that such a ruffian is not in prison?”
“I’ll tell you why, if you’re dead anxious to know,” said the other man, chuckling. “Our friend here is too slippery, the police can’t catch him.”
“Well, if he touches me again I’ll scream so that every officer in New York will hear me,” said Marion, boldly, then she suddenly stopped short and stared at the fellow.
“Oh, I guess you won’t do so very much screaming, my beauty,” was the sneering answer.
Marion had walked on slowly with the two men close beside her, and just as they reached a particularly gloomy-looking house the last speaker clapped his hand suddenly over her mouth, while he threw the other arm in a strong grip around her shoulders.
“Quick! Drag her into the areaway,” ordered the other fellow in a low voice. “I have a key to the basement, and the house is empty.”
As Marion heard the words she realized in an instant what the villain meant. She was at their mercy. The thought made her desperate.
In the same instant it flashed across her mind who the half-drunken fellow was. It was Emile Vorse. She knew him in spite of his disguise—for was he not the man of all men whom she had cause to remember?
With one fearful effort she wrenched his hand from her face and gave a cry for help that fairly woke the echoes.
In a second both men were flying down the street and people came hurrying to her aid from every direction.
As a burly policeman rushed up to her, Marion pointed in the direction of the fleeing men.
“They tried to assault me—do catch them, officer,” she cried. “One is Emile Vorse, who is wanted at headquarters!”
Like a flash the officer was after his quarry, giving three short raps on the sidewalk with his night-stick as he ran, to summon assistance.
Marion explained the situation to a small crowd of men and boys who had gathered, and they promptly started off to help the policeman.
As quickly as possible Marion hurried home and retired. The first thing in the morning she went out and bought a paper.
“They caught him! They caught Emile Vorse!” she cried out, happily, “but, oh, Dollie, just listen to this. They say he has been calling himself by the name of Max, and that he has been decoying young girls to ruin through an agency of some sort.”
“The very man that insulted me in his office,” cried Dollie, with a gasp. “His name was Mr. Max, oh, I am so glad they have caught him.”
“Miss Ray will be delighted,” was Marion’s answer, “for she has never felt quite safe, knowing that the fellow was at liberty.”
“Well, it’s a very true saying that ‘it is a long lane that has no turning.’”
“I hope our lane will turn pretty soon,” said Dollie, sighing.
Just then Marion’s glance fell on another item in the paper.
“That boy that was run over by the cable car was not identified,” she said, sadly. “He had no friends, apparently, for he has been buried by the city.”
“He was just Bert’s age,” said Dollie, sorrowfully.
Marion dropped the paper and stared at her sister.
“Oh, Dollie, I have a scheme,” she cried, excitedly. “Quick! Open your typewriter and be ready to take a dictation. I’m going to play a trick on Matt Jenkins that will give Bert Jackson his freedom.”