CHAPTER XII.
A TERRIBLE SITUATION.
While Dollie was getting her machine in shape her sister composed the following letter.
“Mr. Matthew Jenkins, Poor Farm, Hickorytown, Conn.
“Dear Sir—A boy about sixteen was recently run over by a cable car in this city and killed. As he was unidentified within the regular time allowed by the city, he has been buried in Potter’s Field, the same as any other pauper. I have seen the garments left by the deceased and recognized them as belonging to one of your truant boys, one Bert Jackson, who was in my employ a few days after his arrival in this city. Knowing that the boy was your charge, I write this letter. It should relieve you of all anxiety regarding him in future.”
She signed the letter “John Johnson,” but appended no address. They could think whatever they pleased about the omission, it would make no difference in Matt Jenkins’ actions in the matter.
“He’ll be tickled to death,” said Dollie, grimly. “He’ll just be glad he is dead and that’s the last he’ll ever think of him.”
“And that is exactly what I want,” said Marion, laughing, “for as soon as they think he is dead, they’ll stop looking for him.”
“You are the cleverest girl in the world,” said Dollie, as she addressed the envelope.
She had become quite proficient now on her typewriter.
“I wish I was clever enough to get work,” was her sister’s answer as she inserted some newspaper clippings about the dead boy in the envelope, “but I shall very soon, for I am getting desperate.”
As the girls were planning what to do next Mrs. Haley came in. She was as pleasant as usual, but Marion could see that something was troubling her. After kissing the girls tenderly, she sat down by Dollie, who was not quite well yet, but slowly convalescing.
Marion had felt a little embarrassed in Mrs. Haley’s company of late, for she knew that her friend must wonder where she got her money to go on paying her rent and to employ a physician for Dollie.
But her promise to Ralph had been sacredly kept, and Mrs. Haley was far too courteous to ask any questions.
To-day even Dollie felt a little ill at ease, for Mrs. Haley, in spite of her kindness, did not look exactly natural.
“What is troubling you, Mrs. Haley?” asked Marion, at last. “You look so worried and pale. Has anything happened?”
Mrs. Haley tried to smile, but the effort was pitiful.
“There has, indeed,” she said sadly, “and I feel that I must tell it, although I dread to shock Dollie, when she has so little strength, the poor dear.”
“Tell it at once, Mrs. Haley. I can hear it,” cried Dollie, quickly. “Has anything happened to Ralph? Do hurry and tell us.”
Mrs. Haley took the young girl’s hand and patted it as she spoke.
“It may not be so serious, after all,” she said, more brightly, “but you know my nephew is living with me at present and, well, about three weeks ago an old family heirloom, a diamond, was stolen from the flat, and as Ralph and my husband were the only ones who knew exactly where I kept the stone, it was perhaps not unnatural that I should suspect him. Of course I put the question to him plainly, but for some reason or other he refuses to answer it. Since that time I have been at a loss to know what to do. We are trying to trace the jewel, but so far we have not been able to find it.”
For a moment after she stopped talking there was not a sound in the room except the ticking of the clock, which was painfully in evidence.
The face of Ralph Moore’s betrothed was like the driven snow when she turned toward her sister, but one look at Marion gave her the strength to recover.
Marion sat like a statue, her face as pale as death, but with a smile wreathing her lips that spoke of heroic resolution.
“He will prove himself innocent, I am sure of it,” she said firmly. “It is dreadful for us all, but Ralph is sure to be vindicated. Please believe me, Mrs. Haley, I have absolute faith in him.”
“Yes, indeed,” murmured Dollie, in a fainter voice. She had not the strength to be as firm and determined as her sister.
“I thought you would feel that way,” said Mrs. Haley, sadly. “God grant that you may be right, but as he has asked Dollie to marry him, I felt that she ought to know it.”
“Certainly,” said Marion, still in her calm, clear voice. “And I think she will cling to him even more closely in his trouble, for I am sure Ralph would never do a dishonest deed. There must be a mistake. Oh, I am almost sure of it.”
“I have tried hard to think so, for he is my sister’s child,” said Mrs. Haley, sadly. “Oh, the suspicion is dreadful. I wish I could overcome it.”
As soon as their visitor was gone, poor little Dollie burst out crying.
“Oh, Marion, he took it,” she whispered, faintly. “He stole it for us when I was sick and we had no money.”
“It is dreadful,” said Marion, in a broken voice. “Oh, why couldn’t he see that it was better for us to starve. Poor Ralph, I forgive him, but, oh, I wish he hadn’t done it. And to think we have promised to say nothing about it.”
Dollie grew so sick after this that Marion was terribly alarmed. A chill came on, followed by a raging fever.
Marion looked in her purse. There was just three dollars left. Without the slightest hesitation she ran for a doctor.
That night when Dollie was more quiet she went out for a short walk. She felt that she must be alone where she could think over the situation.
That hundred dollars must be earned and returned to Ralph. She clenched her hands together as she came to this decision. As she turned a corner she saw a group of people just before her all standing around a man who appeared to be a street preacher.
As Marion came nearer she recognized Mr. Haley’s voice. He was talking earnestly and sensibly in his eloquent manner.
At the close of his exhortation he started a hymn. It was an old familiar air that Marion had known all her life, and in an instant it took her back to her home in the country. For just one brief minute the old farm rose up before her. Then came a vision of Silas Johnson turning the old people out and then she thought suddenly of Dollie and her own utter helplessness.
A wave of emotion swept through every fibre of her body.
She must give vent to her sorrow or go mad with grief.
Before she knew it her lips were opened and she joined heart and soul in the singing.
CHAPTER XIII.
MARION’S FIRST ENGAGEMENT AS A SINGER.
At the very moment in which Marion opened her lips to sing two men turned the corner of the street, walking directly toward the preacher.
One was a man of thirty, of Hebrew origin, whose affluent circumstances were plainly apparent.
The other was a German, well dressed, but vulgar in appearance, and wearing a diamond stud that resembled the headlight of an engine.
“I tell you, we’d beat them hands down if it wasn’t for Carlotta,” the German was saying. “We open the same night, and we’ve got to beat them! And we can do it if we can get one more first-class singer.”
“If I could only have got Carlotta to sing my song,” said his companion, sighing, “it would have been the hit of the evening, but it was just my luck not to get her.”
“She’s their winning card,” began the German again, but with a sudden exclamation his companion interrupted him.
“Great Jerusalem, Otto, just hear that voice! Who the mischief is she? Quick! She’s down here with that preacher!”
“A regular Patti!” cried the German, hurrying.
“Bosh! Patti isn’t in it with that girl!” was the answer. “Why, her voice is like a lark—it’s as fresh as a wild flower! And that’s about what she is,” he added as he caught sight of the singer.
Both men stood spellbound as Marion finished the hymn. They had removed their hats almost involuntarily as they listened.
As Marion’s last note died away she looked around in embarrassment. The spell of exaltation had left her—she was almost frightened.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Haley in his cordial way. “That was a treat, indeed, and the hymn is a grand one.”
“I couldn’t help singing,” said Marion, simply. “It is one of our old hymns that we sing up in the country.”
The crowd stared at her curiously as she turned away, and would probably have applauded had not the preacher objected.
“No! No! Not now! Not at this time!” he said, smiling. “The child is a friend of mine; she only did it to help me.”
“She’ll make more converts than you will, Mr. Haley!” called a jovial voice in the crowd.
The preacher laughed good-naturedly as he answered.
“I hope she will, I am sure, Mr. Smythe. It would be a pity if that voice could not cheer the soul of some poor sinner.”
Marion was hurrying away, when two men stepped up to her.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” said Marcus Rosen, the song writer, politely, “I have just been listening to your beautiful singing. You have a magnificent voice. Pray tell me who trained it.”
Marion looked up at him sharply and saw the eagerness in his face.
“It has never been trained, sir, by any one,” she said, simply. “I sing as I feel—I know nothing of method.”
“Well, you are one in a thousand,” said the man again. “But tell me, are you engaged to sing anywhere at present? Would you accept an offer if my friend here should make you one?”
Marion stared at the speaker in blank amazement. She could hardly believe that such good fortune could come to her.
“I will, indeed,” she said, very timidly; “but as I told you at first, I know nothing about singing.”
The German, whose name was Otto Vondergrift, took a card from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Call on me to-morrow morning at ten o’clock,” he said. “I have a little song that I want you to learn, and then if you will sing it at my opening concert I will give you one hundred dollars.”
Marion tried to thank him, but burst out crying.
“I will be there without fail,” she finally managed to stammer.
“You could have got her for a tenspot, Otto,” said the younger man as they walked along. “Can’t you see, she’s from the country and mighty hard up? You must be getting a little reckless with your ducats.”
“Perhaps so,” said Vondergrift, smiling, “but maybe you will find that I am wiser than you. That girl’s voice is phenomenal. She will make a fortune for me! And she’s just green enough, my boy, to think that I’m an angel.”
“You mean that she’ll appreciate your handsome offer so highly that the manager of the ‘Olio’ will not be able to buy her over! Well, if she does she’ll be the first singer to do it,” was the answer, “and after she sings for you one night she’ll have plenty of offers.”
“That’s exactly why I made my price so high,” said Vondergrift again; “I have anticipated these offers and bagged my prima donna!”
“You may be right,” said the other, slowly, “and, anyway, it’s your money, not mine. She certainly can sing, and that is what we are after. Why, Carlotta is a mere croaker compared with our rustic.”
Marion sped home like the wind to carry the good news to Dollie, and for a time the two girls were almost radiantly happy.
In the first mail the next morning Marion received a letter. It was from her sister Samantha, the first she had had from her.
“Father must be relenting,” she said, with a bitter smile, “or else Samantha has at last found courage to defy his orders.”
She glanced over the letter and then almost screamed in surprise.
“Oh, Dollie! Here is news, indeed! I know now why Silas wanted to marry you so badly. He’s been buying chickens and pigs, and is going to fatten them for market, and of course he is desperately in need of a household drudge, and at last he has married poor, homely, Sallie Green! I guess he despaired of ever getting a prettier woman!”
“Poor Sallie!” cried Dollie, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t envy her a lifetime in Silas Johnson’s kitchen!”
“And to think that he tried to make you feel that he was doing you a favor by asking you to marry him,” sneered Marion, “when all he wanted was a drudge for his kitchen!”
“I hope he will be good to her,” said Dollie, very earnestly.
“I wonder what father will do about that mortgage now,” was Marion’s only answer. “He can’t trade you off to settle it now, so it begins to look as if he’d have to raise the money.”
“Oh, there’s no hope for him now,” said Dollie, sighing. “They’ll be turned out surely, and have to live with Samantha.”
“But Samantha’s husband won’t have them,” was Marion’s prompt answer, “which means that they’ll be forced to go to the Poor Farm.”
The two girls stared at each other with expressions of horror. It was a terrible thought—they could hardly endure it.
Bert Jackson came in and found them both weeping bitterly. He had brought Marion the ten dollars which she loaned him on the night of his escape from the Poor Farm, and the money looked like a fortune to the poor girls in their destitute condition.
When Marion told him of the letter which she had written to Matt Jenkins poor Bert was so delighted that he nearly went into hysterics.
“I never dreamed that it would be such fun to be dead,” he said, gayly, “but now I can breathe easy. Matt won’t be trying to chase a deader. And I’ve got a job, too,” he said, delightedly. “Eight dollars a week as clerk in a grocery store!”
“We’ll come and buy our potatoes and other things of you,” laughed Dollie; “that is, if Marion gets a steady place to sing for those people, and as soon as I get real well I’ll keep house for both of you.”
“That would be glorious,” said Bert, “but I’m afraid it won’t work. There’s a young man whom I know who might object, Miss Dollie.”
Dollie blushed as she was reminded so broadly of her sweetheart, and Marion explained to Bert the whole situation.
“He’s a noble fellow! I don’t much care what he did!” cried Bert in admiration; “I’d steal, too, if it was to keep you girls from starving, and I think a man is a cad who says he wouldn’t!”
“Oh, Bert! That isn’t right!” said Marion, firmly. “Of course, we forgive him, but, oh, he shouldn’t have done it! It is awful to steal from any motive! I shall give him every penny of my hundred dollars.”
Dollie drew a long breath, and the tears sprang to her eyes.
“We have not seen him since—since we became suspicious,” she said, very hesitatingly. “Poor fellow! He must be wretched, and yet he knows that we forgive him!”
CHAPTER XIV.
MARION SINGS IN A CONCERT HALL.
Marion was on hand promptly at ten o’clock, and as Otto Vondergrift saw the beautiful face and figure in the broad light of day he chuckled a little over his cleverness in offering her so much money.
“She’ll stick to me now, whereas she might have bolted after the first night if I had offered her less,” he repeated to his friend, the song writer, while Marion waited.
“She is certainly very beautiful,” said Marcus Rosen, as he peered at Marion through the half-open door of a private office.
“You mark my words, Rosen,” said Vondergrift again, “the manager of our rival hall across the way will try to get her away from me just the minute he hears her, but he’s not likely to offer her any more than she’s getting. Oh, I know the world and the people in it far better than you do, my friend! I’m a business man, while you are an artist.”
“I guess you are right,” was the drawling answer, “but I flatter myself that I know you pretty well, my dear Otto, and I’m willing to bet that outside of her making money for you, you’ve got designs on the little rustic.”
“Well, if I have, then I am all right about the hundred,” was the laughing answer, “for that girl is too shy to be tempted by a bottle of wine and a supper.”
“Oh, well, it’s none of my business, any way,” said the artist again; “but come, I’m dying to hear her sing. Let’s take her right into the hall—it’s perfectly empty.”
When Marcus Rosen began playing the prelude to the song which Marion was expected to sing, the young girl’s timidity disappeared like magic.
The magnificent toned piano absorbed her whole soul, and she was soon almost unconscious of time or surroundings.
After playing the song over two or three times, the young man motioned for her to sing it.
She did so, and with such an intelligence of expression and such a ready ear that both the manager and the composer were highly delighted.
Marion rehearsed the piece several times in the next four days, first with the piano accompaniment and then with a full orchestra.
The afternoon before the concert she rehearsed for the last time, and as she hurried home to Dollie, she was flushed with excitement.
“I don’t quite understand about the concert,” she said, anxiously. “It is to be in the big hall that Mr. Vondergrift owns, and there’s another hall called ‘The Olio’ right across the street that is also to be opened with a concert this evening. There are a dozen or more people to sing, or do something at Mr. Vondergrift’s concert, for, of course, he wishes his to be the most attractive.”
“What kind of people are they?” asked Dollie, who was sitting at her typewriter. She was so much better now that she could practice daily.
“That is what I can’t understand,” said Marion slowly. “They can all sing fairly well, and some of them are quite pretty, but some way they seem to me to be very rude—I might almost say, vulgar.”
“What a pity you should have to mix with them,” said Dollie.
“Oh, I don’t!” was Marion’s quick answer. “Mr. Vondergrift has managed that! Why, he lets me wait my turn in a little room all by myself, and to-day he brought me a delicious little luncheon!”
“How lovely of him!” said Dollie, going on with her work.
Not once did it seem to either of these simple girls that Mr. Vondergrift’s attentions meant anything more than kindness.
“See here, Dollie!” cried Marion, with a jolly laugh, “they’ve actually advertised that I am to sing to-night, only they’ve given me a queer Italian name. I suppose they are trying to make out that I am some great singer.”
Dollie looked at the programme that Marion held out to her.
“Signorita Ila de Pailoa,” she read, in an amused voice. “What a terrible name! And what a lot of deceit! Why in the world couldn’t he have called you just plain Marion Marlowe?”
“Oh, that wouldn’t do at all! He explained it to me,” said Marion, a little dubiously. “The public insist upon having foreigners, so he is obliged to fool them. And, besides, Dollie, my name would not suit for another reason—I’m only a country girl, who has had her name in all the papers.”
“You have, indeed, but it was always as a heroine!” said Dollie, proudly. “First they told all about your rescuing me, and then the way they spoke of you at the fire was simply delightful!”
“Well, I’ve had quite enough of it,” said Marion, decidedly. “I shall be glad to be able to stay in the background in future.”
“I wish I could be there to hear you sing,” said Dollie, plaintively, “but I don’t feel very strong yet, and, besides, Mrs. Haley is coming this evening, you know, and I shall surprise her when I tell her that you are singing in a concert.”
“I hope I have done right in keeping it from her,” said Marion, slowly. “Some way, I was afraid she would not approve of my singing in public.”
“If she only knew your motive!” sighed Dollie, plaintively.
“She must never know,” was Marion’s decided answer.
“See here, Dollie, what I am to wear,” said Marion later, as she was opening a bundle. “They have loaned me a dress, because mine is not suitable, and I had to bring it home to see if it needed to be altered.”
She took out a pretty silk dress that just suited her complexion, but both girls were horrified to find that it was very low in the neck, and had no sleeves whatever.
“I don’t mind about the sleeves so much,” said Marion, blushing, “but I’ll never wear a low neck like that, never!”
“Here’s a big piece of lace,” said Dollie, pulling it out of the package. “I expect it is intended for a veil or a mantle, but you can just drape it around your neck and shoulders, and you’ll be as pretty as a picture.”
Marion dressed in the little room that Mr. Vondergrift had set aside for her, and almost before she was ready her employer came to find her.
“What’s that stuff around your neck?” was his first words of greeting.
Marion blushed to the roots of her hair as she answered:
“The neck was too low, Mr. Vondergrift,” she said, simply. “It was fortunate I had the lace, so that I was able to fix it.”
“You are a goose,” said the man, with a frown of displeasure, and just at that moment one of the other singers came to look for him.
Marion took one look at her and almost gasped, for the woman’s dress was cut so low in the neck and so short in the skirt that to Marion’s mind she might almost as well have been naked. There was no mistaking her expression of horror, and Mr. Vondergrift, like a wise man, decided to say no more about her appearance.
“She’ll come to it after a little,” he said to Marcus Rosen, when he left her. “If I had insisted to-night, she would have ‘kicked over the traces,’ and, anyway, it will be a novelty. I hope it catches.”
When Marion’s turn came, she was fairly trembling. Never before in her life had she felt so embarrassed. Only the thought of Dollie and Ralph Moore gave her courage to go on. It was imperative that she should earn that one hundred dollars.
There was a blaze of light as Marion reached the stage, then a blare from the orchestra that sounded strangely confusing.
She had never seen the big hall lighted before, and the row of lights at the front of the stage dazzled her eyes for a minute so that she could hardly open them.
Almost as if in a dream she heard Mr. Vondergrift’s voice whispering to her to hurry, and she advanced toward the centre of the stage and tried to collect her scattered senses.
As the orchestra changed to the opening bars of the prelude to her song, Marion became more composed and was able to look about a little.
What kind of a place was she in? Her eyes were wide open now as she asked herself the question.
Men and women, scores of them, were seated all over the hall, and before them were small tables loaded with bottles and glasses, while men with white aprons moved swiftly between them, carrying trays which contained more glasses and bottles.
A whiff of villainous tobacco smoke floated to her nostrils, and just then the opening chord of her song was struck. Marion closed her eyes and commenced her song.
There was hardly a sound in the house while the young girl sang, and the silence helped her to concentrate her thoughts on the inspiration of her song, which was her sister Dollie.
It was a simple ballad, filled with pathos and love, and Marion’s exquisite voice thrilled even the most callous of her hearers.
As the last note died away, there was silence for a moment, then the audience rose to its feet and fairly yelled its “Bravos!”
“You must go back, they are encoring you,” cried Mr. Vondergrift, meeting her in the wings.
“Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” said Marion, almost crying.
“Can you sing ‘Comin’ Thro’ the Rye?’” asked Mr. Vondergrift, with a sudden inspiration.
“Why, certainly,” said Marion, a little surprised that he should ask her.
“Then go back and sing it!” said the man peremptorily.
Marion went back to the footlights and was greeted with a perfect storm of applause.
A signal from somewhere told the orchestra to be silent.
In another second Marion started the well-known ditty. The cheers that followed fairly shook the building.
CHAPTER XV.
MARION SEES MR. MOORE.
“Carlotta” and “The Olio” were eclipsed entirely, and Otto Vondergrift took occasion to brag a little the next morning.
“That hundred wasn’t a bad investment, after all,” he said to his friend Rosen. “Why, there wasn’t a dozen people left in ‘The Olio’ after Ila began singing!”
“Here she comes!” said the song writer, as Marion entered. “I’ll leave you to make love to your little rustic prima donna!”
“Here are your hundred dollars, miss,” said Vondergrift, promptly, “and I’ll give you the same price if you will sing again this evening, and to-morrow I’ll make a contract to hire you for the season.”
Marion put the money in her pocket, and then faced him tremblingly.
“I had no idea, sir, that I was to sing in a drinking place,” she said, slowly; “believe me, your money would not have tempted me if I had known it. I am a temperance woman—I don’t believe in drinking liquor.”
Otto Vondergrift was so surprised that he could hardly speak for a moment.
“What, do you mean that you refuse my offer of one hundred dollars for an evening? Why, girl, are you mad, or are you dreaming?”
“I must refuse it, sir!” said Marion, sternly. “I do not approve of your concert hall, and I should feel disgraced were I to again appear in it!”
“Well, I’ll be blowed!” was the German’s only answer.
“I am very much obliged to you for the money,” said Marion, coolly, as she turned toward the door, after bidding him “good-morning.”
In a second a wave of disappointment and chagrin thrilled the manager’s frame; his face grew livid with rage as he took a step toward her.
“So they have bought you off at ‘The Olio,’ have they?” he sneered. “You’ve gone back on your benefactor, you little country innocent!”
“I have done nothing of the sort,” said Marion, with spirit. “I shall never sing in a concert hall again. I think it is dreadful! It is degrading!”
She swept out of the door and into the street, leaving the astounded manager cursing like a madman.
As quickly as Marion was safely out, she started for the office where her sister’s lover worked. There was joy at her heart that she was at last able to repay him.
“The end almost justifies the means,” she whispered to herself, “but I could never sing there again, never, never!”
Marion called Ralph outside into the little hallway. It was the first time they had met since Mrs. Haley told her story.
As quick as she could, Marion tucked the one hundred dollars into his band. The young man drew back, alternately flushing and paling, but the brave girl put her hands behind her.
“No, you must keep it, Ralph,” she said, firmly. “It is my duty to help clear up the cloud that hangs over you.”
“But how can you do that?” asked the young man, candidly. “I stole the diamond and pawned it, and what is more, I don’t regret it!”
Marion’s heart almost stopped beating for an instant, then she grasped his hand in both her own.
“Let us go to your aunt together and I will explain,” she said, quickly. “We can stop for the diamond on the way, and, oh, Ralph, don’t you see the matter must be settled?”
“Very well, Marion,” was Ralph’s answer, in a weary voice. “I’m ready to tell her, and I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“Then you will go with me, right away?” asked the young girl, quickly.
Ralph Moore stopped suddenly and raised his head a trifle.
“No, Marion!” he said, distinctly. “I’m not such a coward! I will take your money and restore my aunt her diamond, but I will tell her the truth myself and abide by her decision!”
He looked so noble and manly that Marion’s heart thrilled as she looked at him.
“Oh, Ralph!” she cried, brokenly, “don’t ever do such a thing again! Believe me, it is better to starve than to be dishonest!”
A faint smile passed over the young man’s handsome features.
“I am free to confess that I would starve before I would steal for myself,” he said, slowly, “but do you think I would hesitate when Dollie was starving?”
Marion turned away. She had no words with which to answer him. She knew that he was wrong, yet she could not find it in her heart to censure him.
“You will come and see her to-night, will you not?” she said, finally. “Poor child, she has been worrying terribly about you!”
“And it has nearly killed me to stay away,” answered the young man, honestly, “but I could not face her; I was too utterly miserable, and yet, as I said just now, I would do the same thing over again under the same circumstances.”
“If you do, you will lose our friendship forever,” said Marion, solemnly. “Don’t do wrong again, Ralph, from no matter what motive.”
As Marion hurried up Broadway, she felt almost happy, for the consciousness of doing right was always her greatest pleasure.
She felt sure that Mrs. Haley would forgive him freely; then she breathed a sigh as she again faced the problem of the future.
There was no money left, and the rent was due to-morrow, while the date of that terrible mortgage was growing rapidly nearer.
As Marion walked along, she hardly raised her eyes from the pavement, but suddenly she became aware that something unusual was happening.
A half a block before her she saw a small danger sign standing in the middle of the pavement, and groups of idle loungers stood on the various corners, all gazing up at a very high building.
Marion looked up also, and then stared a little. They were raising an enormous safe to the seventh story window. It was the first time she had seen it done, and she looked on with interest.
The young girl had walked as near to the danger sign as she dared, when she suddenly saw a sight that thrilled her with horror.
A lady, with a little girl, came out of an adjoining building, and the child, seeing something on the sidewalk that attracted its attention, darted like a flash directly under the suspended safe, which weighed six tons at the least calculation.
The lady screamed, but seemed powerless to move, while a dozen voices shouted to the child from all directions. Marion’s nerves were so tense that she seemed unconscious for an instant, then an ominous creaking of the ropes brought her to her senses, and as the enormous cable parted, she darted forward like an arrow.