The mystery of Central Park

At the sight of Penelope Richard was dumbfounded.

He stifled a first impulse to spring to his feet and greet her when he saw her stern, white and reproachful face, and sitting still tried slyly to drop Dido’s hand.

With an almost imperceptible bow of recognition, Penelope went on after her aunt and a gentleman who, unnoticed, had in advance passed Dick and his companion.

“D—— it!” said Dick, warmly, in an undertone, and then he thought: “I’m in for it now. Penelope will never believe that thinking of my love for her made me feel a great pity for this lonely girl. She will say I was making love to her, because I held her hand, and she will never forgive it. What an ass I am to risk a life-time of happiness with Penelope, just to sympathize with a girl whose life is lonely, and yet, poor little devil—It’s all up with Penelope, I know. I can tell by the look on her face that she will not forgive or believe me. I’ll give up. It’s no use now trying to solve the Park mystery—no use trying to do anything.”

Dido looked uneasy. She had seen all and she partly understood. She said, in a little strained voice: “I am very sorry.”

“I wish some man would tramp on my toes or punch me in the ribs. I’d just like a chance to knock the life out of somebody,” Dick said, savagely.

Dido laughed softly at Dick’s outburst, but she delicately avoided the subject of the lady who looked so angry.

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, at length, in an effort to change the subject, “that it’s all arranged at last.”

“What?” asked Dick, curiously, the current of his thoughts leading him to think it was something about Penelope.

“Why, the affair between Maggie and Martin Shanks. Why, didn’t you know?” in great surprise. “Why, I saw it all the first night you brought me back.”

“I didn’t notice anything in particular, but I recall plainly feeling Mr. Shanks in the dark,” Richard replied, grimly. He always felt a little disgust at the remembrance of his fears that night, and he cherished a grudge against lanky Martin Shanks for waiting to be run over in the hallway.

“Well, Maggie and Martin are in love,” exultingly.

“Possible!”

“Yes, and last night he proposed and was accepted, and Sunday they are going to be married, and they are going down to Coney Island to spend the first day of their honeymoon,” and Dido sighed in ecstasy.

“Lucky Martin, I’m sure; I wish I were in a like position,” Dick said, half enviously, as the sad thought came that it was all over between him and Penelope. “I must get a nice present for Maggie.”

“It was all so amusing,” said Dido, with a rippling laugh. “I’m half sorry the courtship ended so soon. Martin was so faithful, so bashful, and so desperately in love. The only time he ever showed the least spirit was the night you took me home.”

“I remember it quite well,” Dick said, drily.

“I thought he was very insulting that night, but it’s just his way, you know. He has liked you ever since then. You know he always stood guard in the hall; every night I was out, I would stumble over him, yet he couldn’t be coaxed to come in. When Maggie took Blind Gilbert out to his stand, Martin always followed, so as to protect her coming home. Still, if she looked at him or spoke to him, he was so embarrassed that he couldn’t answer.”

“He gave her some flowers once, and when she thanked him, he was so broke up that he stammered that he had found them on Broadway and thought she might as well have them, and the great simpleton had bought them expressly for her. Next he bought some cloth for a dress, and when Maggie said she couldn’t take it, he said he didn’t want it, that he couldn’t make any use of it. Just fancy Martin Shanks wearing a dress!”

Richard smiled at the picture presented to his mind of lanky Mr. Shanks in a gown.

“His proposal was the funniest thing,” Dido continued, with a chuckle. “There came a loud knock on the door. Maggie opened it, and there before her was a work-basket. She picked it up and lifted the lid and there lay a plain gold ring.”

“Martin,” she said, going out to where he was standing in the hall, “you are too good to me. I can’t take these things.”

“I had an idee you’d let the parson, who brings us tracts, put that there ring on yer finger, and then you’d have the right to do me mendin’. It was an idee, maybe I’m wrong?”

“‘Then Maggie said gently, ‘Come in, Martin,’ and he replied, ‘If yu air wid me, Maggie?’ and she blushed, and said, ‘Yes, Martin,’ and he stepped into the room, saying, ‘I’ll come in to settle accounts.’

“When he went out again all arrangements had been made for a speedy marriage. Martin said it was no use to waste time in being engaged, so they are to be married Sunday. They are the happiest couple you ever saw,” and Dido sighed enviously.

“And what is to become of you and blind Gilbert? Are you to have no share in their Eden?” Richard asked.

“Oh, yes. Maggie says they are going to rent a flat further uptown, and one room is to be for me and Lucille when she comes back, and Gilbert is to stay with them also. It’s a pretty big family to begin with, but we’ll all give what we can to pay expenses. I don’t think Gilbert will go, though. He likes Maggie as though she was his daughter, but he’s been so many years in that house on Mulberry Street that I don’t think he will leave it.”

“Well, this is our last evening to search for Maggie’s sister,” Richard said, with half regret, “and we have had no success whatever. I’m sorry, for Maggie’s sake, though personally I feel it is just as well for her if her sister never returns to be a burden on her.”

“I intend to see Tolman Bike before his marriage and learn from him where the sister is. Then, if we think it advisable, we can still persuade her to go home, but I have another important matter that will take all my time, so I cannot do much, for a while, at least, about Maggie’s sister, unless Bike tells me where she is when I see him, as I intend to do to-morrow. I expect to be too busy working on an important case to see you for a while, but I hope your good luck will still continue, and you can congratulate Mr. Shanks and Maggie for me.”

“It is useless for me to try to thank you for your kindness and help to me,” Dido said, brokenly.

Dick’s blue eyes beamed kindly on Dido as he replied, quickly: “There’s a good girl, don’t let us talk about that. I’m a useless fellow, and if I have been of the least service to any one, the gratitude is all on my side. I am grateful to you for allowing me to imagine I have been of service to you.”

“You have been better to me than any one on earth,” she said, vehemently, her eyes burning into his. “You have often said there was no gratitude in the world, so I won’t say I would like to prove my gratitude to you, but some day—I’ll wait. The day will come when I can show you what I feel.”

“My dear child,” he said, softly, his eyes moist, for he was much touched by the girl’s words, “only be happy and that knowledge will make me happier.”

Dido looked down and was silent. Presently two tears chased each other down over her cheeks and splashed on her slender hands, folded pathetically in her lap.

“Why, Dido, child!” Dick said, startled.

She raised her brown eyes, wet with tears, to his frank blue ones, and her lips were quivering pitifully. He took her hands, patting them soothingly, not daring to say a word.

“T-they would come,” she faltered, her mouth bravely smiling while her eyes were filling with tears. “I—I could not help it.”

He still said nothing, but kept on patting her hands, half embarrassed now.

“I was so—so wretched until you found me, and I’ve been so happy since, that—that I couldn’t quite bear—your words.”

“I hope I did not speak roughly,” poor, blind Dick said, hardly understanding her grief. In his separation from her he was losing nothing, but she—poor child—she was losing everything.

“No—that’s it. You are so kind,” she faltered. “Don’t, please, don’t mind me. I am so foolish. I am always crying, don’t you think?”

She looked up at him with a sad, little smile that made his heart ache, he hardly knew why.

“Will you promise me something, Dido?” he asked, suddenly.

“Yes,” she answered, simply.

“Promise that you will try to be happy; that you will never cherish blue thoughts, no difference what happens. Let ill-luck frown on you all it wishes. Laugh at it; laugh in it’s face until your laughter makes it smile. Promise me to do this?”

“Is that what you do?” she asked, evasively.

“Well, I don’t know. But what difference! I don’t get as low in spirits as you do. Won’t you promise?”

“You have brought me happiness. I promise if I get blue to think of you. Will that do?” she asked, seriously.

“I don’t know,” he said, half provoked, but he urged no further.

And these two young people, whose barks had floated side by side on the stream of life for a brief time, were drifting apart. Mentally they were taking farewell, for they knew that, if even for a few days, they remained yet in sight or call, still their course lay so widely apart that they might never hope to float near each other again.

So they silently left the place where they had spent their last evening together and went out on the street into the cool quiet night.

A few gas jets dimly lighted up Twenty-third Street, and the stores that lined the opposite side frowned dark and gloomy upon the few people who occasionally made their appearance as they walked from the darkness into the light of the street lamps, and then disappeared again into the shadows beyond.

Coming towards the young couple from Sixth Avenue was a man, thoughtfully walking along, as if, unable to sleep, he had sought the quiet streets to think.

Richard noticed him, and pressing Dido’s arm, he whispered:

“Look at this man.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, excitedly.

The men exchanged glances, and the stranger raised his hat stiffly in response to Richard’s cordial greeting. After they had passed, Richard said:

“Why do you tremble so? I merely wanted to call your attention to him. That is Mr. Clarke, the gentleman I had the experience with in the Hoffman House bar.”

“Mr. Clarke!” cried Dido, in amazement. “Why that is Tolman Bike!”