About a week later, they arrived one day, late in the afternoon, in Chicago, and at once took a bus from the station to the hotel, the Blackstone. They were to sing at the Auditorium that evening. The concert they gave originally in Washington was to be repeated. As all were now familiar with their task, they did not have to practice unless so disposed.
Mr. Ludlow and his assistant hurried off to the Auditorium to see about decorations and to meet the committee that had charge of selling tickets there.
Mrs. Calvert, Dorothy, and Alfaretta hurried up to their rooms to get their things straightened out. Alfy found, having packed hurriedly that morning, that their dresses were badly wrinkled. She said to Mrs. Calvert:
“Aunt Betty, what shall I do? My dresses are very much mussed, and I guess Dorothy’s are in the same condition.”
“I have a little electric iron in my trunk that I always carry with me for just that purpose, when I travel, because one’s things are very apt to get wrinkled no matter how much care one takes of them,” answered Aunt Betty.
“May I have it?” questioned Alfaretta, eagerly, for she was always very fond of ironing, and always was very proud of her skill in that direction, for more than once Ma Babcock had praised her by saying even she couldn’t have done as well herself. “I would love to iron the things all out nice, and make them look like new.”
“Certainly, I will get it for you. You unscrew the electric light bulb and take it out, and then put the small disk in place and screw it tight. Then turn on the current, and place the piece with the wire attached into the socket. Then in a few minutes the iron will be hot enough to use,” directed Aunt Betty.
Alfy started off to look for things to press; ribbons, belts, ties, collars and the dresses that they wished to wear that night. These she laid on the bed, and Aunt Betty left her there, as happy and content as she could be in having found some way in which she could be useful.
When Dorothy was all alone at last, she openeda letter that the clerk had given her when she arrived, and read as follows:
Dear, Dear Girl:I received your postal and letter from Washington, but was rather disappointed not to have had another letter from you ere this. But I suppose you have been very busy sight-seeing in all the places you have been, and then you must have given up considerable time to practicing for your concerts. I know that you have little time while you are traveling about.I read the accounts of the first concert in the New York papers, and they all referred to it as being a great success. I am very proud of you, dear.As yet I have heard nothing at all from the detectives concerning your locket and chain, but I have heard of a new detective, a private man. A fellow in the office was telling me about his good work in many cases; it seems that he is a friend of this fellow’s. The chap is a nice boy and is under me in my work. His name is Billie Clarke, and he lives uptown in New York. He has invited me up to his home to meet his mother and sister, some time next week. I shall go becauseit is very lonely here in this big city without you, dear. I miss you, little sweetheart, in a hundred different ways.Mr. Van Zandt telephoned me and said that he had submitted the proof he had concerning you, to his colleague, who would comment upon it a little later, and would submit it to the London solicitors; and just as soon as I hear anything about the result I will write to you.I asked him if he had been able to do anything in the line of tracing up little Lem’s people, but he said that he couldn’t say much as he had just started, and had found but very few traces. So that is something we will still have to hope for, though I am sure he will do his best to solve that mystery.I like my new work very much indeed. There is a lot to learn, and I spend all my evenings reading up on matters I am not quite strong in, but, in time, I certainly hope to make good.And, dearest, I hope to save up all I can, against that day when I will surely be the happiest man on earth. You know what day I mean, dear girl.Mrs. Quarren has been just great to me, and has done everything she could to make my roomseem homelike. The meals here are wonderful, and if I keep on eating as much as I have this last week, I shall be fat when you come back here again.Now, dear, please, please write to me. You know how very lonely I am, and how anxious I am about you. Write and tell me all the news.I love you, girl, always.Your own,Jim.
Dear, Dear Girl:
I received your postal and letter from Washington, but was rather disappointed not to have had another letter from you ere this. But I suppose you have been very busy sight-seeing in all the places you have been, and then you must have given up considerable time to practicing for your concerts. I know that you have little time while you are traveling about.
I read the accounts of the first concert in the New York papers, and they all referred to it as being a great success. I am very proud of you, dear.
As yet I have heard nothing at all from the detectives concerning your locket and chain, but I have heard of a new detective, a private man. A fellow in the office was telling me about his good work in many cases; it seems that he is a friend of this fellow’s. The chap is a nice boy and is under me in my work. His name is Billie Clarke, and he lives uptown in New York. He has invited me up to his home to meet his mother and sister, some time next week. I shall go becauseit is very lonely here in this big city without you, dear. I miss you, little sweetheart, in a hundred different ways.
Mr. Van Zandt telephoned me and said that he had submitted the proof he had concerning you, to his colleague, who would comment upon it a little later, and would submit it to the London solicitors; and just as soon as I hear anything about the result I will write to you.
I asked him if he had been able to do anything in the line of tracing up little Lem’s people, but he said that he couldn’t say much as he had just started, and had found but very few traces. So that is something we will still have to hope for, though I am sure he will do his best to solve that mystery.
I like my new work very much indeed. There is a lot to learn, and I spend all my evenings reading up on matters I am not quite strong in, but, in time, I certainly hope to make good.
And, dearest, I hope to save up all I can, against that day when I will surely be the happiest man on earth. You know what day I mean, dear girl.
Mrs. Quarren has been just great to me, and has done everything she could to make my roomseem homelike. The meals here are wonderful, and if I keep on eating as much as I have this last week, I shall be fat when you come back here again.
Now, dear, please, please write to me. You know how very lonely I am, and how anxious I am about you. Write and tell me all the news.
I love you, girl, always.
Your own,Jim.
Dorothy read the letter once, and sighed, “Dear, dear Jim,” and then she slowly read the letter through again, kissed the signature, blushing as she did so. She then got up, walked to the writing desk, a pretty little mahogany one, fitted out nicely, selected some paper and started to write. She thought, “I will just write a little note to Jim to thank him for sending me those beautiful American beauty roses that everyone admired. I ought to have done so before.” Her letter was as follows:
Dear Jim:The clerk just handed me your letter as I came into the hotel, for we just arrived in Chicago. I was very glad to hear from you.Most of all, I want to thank you so very much for those flowers. They were just beautiful, and it pleased me so, to think of your remembering that we were to have the concert, and then sending those flowers to me by telegraph.The President was at the concert, and in the intermission we went to his box, spoke to him, and shook hands with him. I carried your flowers with me all the time.I am going to rest for a while after I write this letter, as we give a concert here to-night at the Auditorium.The members of the company that joined us at Washington are very fine. There is a trio, and their singing is exquisite; also a Miss Winters, who is a wonderful dancer. She fairly floats about the stage, and makes a very pretty picture.The whole company is very good, indeed, and I guess we are doing very well, judging from the applause we earn. Mr. Ludlow seems pleased with the finances. You know Mr. Dauntrey takes care of those and helps Mr. Ludlow in general. Although the latter is very considerate and helpful, I don’t know just why it is, but there is something I don’t quite like about him. He is sovery handsome that most girls, including Ruth, are raving about him.We have a few busy days. A concert every night and train by day. We go from here to St. Louis, and then to the Coast. I am anxious to get to San Francisco. I want to look up that old house there on the bluff that we had that year we took Aunt Betty there for her health when Monty Sharp was with us. Do you remember, Jim?I am so sorry about that locket, but I know that you will find it, and then we can clear up the whole affair.And so you think that perhaps Mr. Van Zandt will find out all about poor little Lem’s parents just from that sampler that Alfy found in the attic? I do so hope so.Aunt Betty and Alfy, I know, would wish to be remembered, if they knew I was writing, so I will send their love anyway.Now, isn’t this a nice, long, newsy letter?I have to practice a little now, so I will stop.I am yours, as ever,Dorothy.
Dear Jim:
The clerk just handed me your letter as I came into the hotel, for we just arrived in Chicago. I was very glad to hear from you.
Most of all, I want to thank you so very much for those flowers. They were just beautiful, and it pleased me so, to think of your remembering that we were to have the concert, and then sending those flowers to me by telegraph.
The President was at the concert, and in the intermission we went to his box, spoke to him, and shook hands with him. I carried your flowers with me all the time.
I am going to rest for a while after I write this letter, as we give a concert here to-night at the Auditorium.
The members of the company that joined us at Washington are very fine. There is a trio, and their singing is exquisite; also a Miss Winters, who is a wonderful dancer. She fairly floats about the stage, and makes a very pretty picture.
The whole company is very good, indeed, and I guess we are doing very well, judging from the applause we earn. Mr. Ludlow seems pleased with the finances. You know Mr. Dauntrey takes care of those and helps Mr. Ludlow in general. Although the latter is very considerate and helpful, I don’t know just why it is, but there is something I don’t quite like about him. He is sovery handsome that most girls, including Ruth, are raving about him.
We have a few busy days. A concert every night and train by day. We go from here to St. Louis, and then to the Coast. I am anxious to get to San Francisco. I want to look up that old house there on the bluff that we had that year we took Aunt Betty there for her health when Monty Sharp was with us. Do you remember, Jim?
I am so sorry about that locket, but I know that you will find it, and then we can clear up the whole affair.
And so you think that perhaps Mr. Van Zandt will find out all about poor little Lem’s parents just from that sampler that Alfy found in the attic? I do so hope so.
Aunt Betty and Alfy, I know, would wish to be remembered, if they knew I was writing, so I will send their love anyway.
Now, isn’t this a nice, long, newsy letter?
I have to practice a little now, so I will stop.
I am yours, as ever,
Dorothy.
She read the letter she had just written over again, and then sealed it. She then opened thedoor, stepped into the hall and dropped it into the mail box chute near the elevator. Then she returned to the room to dress and rest before the concert.
In a little while Alfy entered and found her dressing.
“See what I have been doing,” she said, gayly, holding up the dresses she had just finished pressing so that Dorothy could see and admire them.
“You dear girl,” commented Dorothy, going over and kissing her. “You are always doing something for me. Thank you, dear, for pressing my dress. Doesn’t it look nice now?—like new again.”
“Is there anything else that you would like to have pressed, now that I am working?” Alfy inquired.
“Why, there is that blue waist that I have been wearing in the train. It is very mussy,” added Dorothy, “but if you are in a hurry, don’t bother with it; I really can get along without it.”
“Give it to me,” responded Alfy. “I just love ironing, and will have it done in no time. I might as well press mine while I am about it, too.” And taking Dorothy’s waist from her, she quickly found her own, and started off with them.
The girls were soon ready, and then went down the stair with Mrs. Calvert.
Mr. Ludlow called for Dorothy at seven o’clock that evening, and they started for the Auditorium.
The stage, this time, was decorated with huge bunches of chrysanthemums, and large green palms that hung their great, fan-like leaves in a regular bower effect over the stage, making a very effective background for the performance. The programs here were, of course, inside much like the Washington ones, but this time the cover was of heavy, dark brown manila paper, embossed into a large dull gold chrysanthemum, and tied with a yellow ribbon bow at the top end. They were very pretty and effective.
The committee of ladies that had charge of selling the seats here in Chicago had arranged to have the programs sold. They had selected ten very pretty and charming debutantes, and had provided them with pretty little dainty satin bags, with yellow chrysanthemums handpainted on them. These bags were hung over their shoulders by yellow ribbons. The whole effect was very pretty and artistic. The girls were to charge twenty-five cents for the programs, and themoney they slipped into a little pocket in the bag which held them.
During the intermission, most of the people retired to the cosy little tea-room in front of the place, where cool and refreshing drinks as well as ice creams and ices were served at a moderately low fee.
There the girls met many charming Chicago people, and the committee of ladies made it very pleasant for them by introducing them to almost everyone. A most informal and successful evening, they all agreed they had spent.
The next day was Sunday, and as a few of their number were visiting friends in Chicago, the rest of them decided to spend the day sight-seeing.
The trio, for so they were always called by the rest, all had gone to visit relatives, and little Miss Winter had promised to visit a friend who lived in a suburb of the city. So the rest of the company felt quite lost, and thought the best way to amuse themselves in this large, strange city was to go sight-seeing and become acquainted with it.
“Did you know,” said Mr. Ludlow as the little party started out on a tour of the city, “that Chicago is especially famous for its highly developedand extensive boulevard systems and parks? The public parks cover an area of over four thousand acres and are being added to every year.”
“Yes,” responded Mrs. Calvert, “and the great boulevards of the city encircle the metropolis and connect parks and squares. These great roads, splendidly paved and shaded by trees, and lined with ornamental lamp posts, are throughout the year favorite highways for the automobilists.”
About ten minutes’ walk from the hotel brought them to Grant Park on the lake front. There the Art Institute attracted their attention, and they found the building open.
“The center of art interests in Chicago is located here,” said Mr. Ludlow. “This building contains the Museum of Fine Arts and the School of Design. Its collections and the building and its work are entirely conducted on voluntary subscriptions.”
“I have heard that the Art School here is the largest one in America,” said Mrs. Calvert.
They visited the various rooms in the museum, including the Hall collection of casts of ancient and modern sculpture, and the Higinbotham collection of Naples bronzes, the rooms containing French sculpture and musical instruments, scarabæae,Egyptian antiques, Greek vases of glass and terra-cotta, and found all very interesting.
They then visited Blackstone Hall, containing the great Blackstone collection of architectural casts chiefly from French subjects. Then the paintings of George Inness. These canvases are so diverse and representative that it is highly improbable that another equally significant group of works by Inness will ever come into market again.
From the north side of Grant Park and extending south to Garfield boulevard near Washington Park is Michigan Boulevard. This historic drive, part of which was once an Indian trail, is a main artery of automobile travel from the lake front hotel districts to the south parks.
The party then took a surface car to Jackson Park, which was a short distance. It was the site of the world’s Columbian Exposition.
“The Field Museum of Natural History was the Fine Arts Building in the Exposition of 1893,” said Mr. Ludlow. “Let’s visit that part first.”
This museum was established soon after the close of the world’s Columbian Exposition, and occupies one of the largest and most beautifulbuildings in the whole exposition group covering two acres. The building is classic Greek in style, constructed with brick and steel, covered with ornamental stucco, in imitation of marble.
Marshall Field, whose name the institution perpetuates, was the person who made the building possible by his generosity. He gave about one and a half million dollars. Then at his death in 1906, he left the institution eight million dollars, one-half for endowment, and the other half for a magnificent permanent building, worthy of the unrivaled scientific collections which it contains.
The nucleus of the material now on view was gathered by gift and purchase from exhibitions at the world’s Columbian Exposition.
From here they walked to the Wooded Island, an interesting feature of which is the Cahokia Court House, reputed to be the oldest public building in the whole Mississippi valley.
It was built, it is said, about the year 1716, at Cahokia, Illinois, and has served in various public capacities. At different periods it was employed for both civil and military purposes, and is recognized as the oldest county seat building(Saint Clair County, Illinois) in the original Northwest Territory.
The building is constructed of squared walnut logs, set on end in the early French manner of stockade construction, the logs being held together with wooden pins. Three flags, French, English and American, float from the flagstaff of the Old Cahokia Court House, daily.
Within the building are a number of photographs of the original documents which pertain to its interesting history.
The Japanese buildings, representing three periods of Japanese history, remain in their original site at the north end of Wooded Island, and near them is a tiny garden in formal Japanese style.
The United States Life Saving Station is near the lake shore and was one of the interesting government exhibitions, and has ever since been maintained as a regular life saving station.
La Rabida, at the south end of the park on the lake shore is an exact reproduction of an ancient Spanish convent, where Columbus was at one time sheltered and befriended, in the days before he was able to secure aid from the Spanish court.
“And an interesting reminder of Columbuscan be seen in those three small caravels,” said Mr. Ludlow. “Do you know their names? They are reproductions of the small craft that brought Columbus and his followers on their first voyage to the New World.”
Dorothy, who had remembered reading an article on Columbus in a recent magazine, exclaimed joyfully, “I know, the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria.”
“Right,” laughed Mr. Ludlow.
“Oh, I am hungry,” said Alfy, suddenly, “I am most starved. What time is it, I wonder? I feel as if it were way past dinner time.”
Mr. Ludlow consulted his watch and said, “It is just six forty-five.”
“I guess we had better start back to the hotel, now,” broke in Mrs. Calvert. “I am rather tired and hungry, too.”
“We have seen quite a lot of the city and we can go into the shopping district and see that in the morning. There are some few things I would like to purchase,” remarked Dorothy.
“I would like to visit Marshall Field’s. I have always heard so much about it and I would like to see if these Chicagoans really know what a good store is.”
“You will find that Marshall Field’s is indeed a very wonderful store. Just like our New York stores, though, but a trifle better, anyway,” said Mrs. Calvert. “Yes, I think you will all agree with me, when you visit that wonderful store in the morning.”
They hurried back to the hotel and prepared for dinner, after which Mr. Ludlow took Ruth, Dorothy and Alfaretta to church. Aunt Betty stayed home, being too tired to go out.
On Monday morning the company divided into little parties and went shopping, each to secure their own special needs.
Dorothy, Ruth, Alfaretta and Mrs. Calvert made one party. They went direct to Marshall Field’s and were admittedly amazed by what they saw, so stupendous is the place. They were surprised to find the store’s capacity so large and everything so fine, of such good quality, reasonably priced and conveniently arranged.
Mrs. Calvert bought a belt and a pair of gloves, and met such courteous attention and carefulness among the shop-girls as to be very much impressed. She said to Dorothy:
“Dear, I never before found shopping so pleasant. I wish I could always get everything I wished at Chicago, and especially here in this store, for it is directed wonderfully well.”
“I would like to send some souvenir postcards,”broke in Alfy. “Do you suppose I can get them here?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Dorothy. “I saw them, a large counter full of all kinds of views in and around the city; they were near the door which we entered.”
“You can write them right here, and send them off from the store,” added Aunt Betty.
“Come along then,” directed Ruth. “All this way who want post cards.”
They made their way to the counter where the cards were displayed and immediately were engaged in selecting views of the things and places they had seen in the city.
“Here is a very pretty card,” said Ruth. “It has the La Rabida on it. You remember the convent we saw in Jackson Park yesterday, where they had all of those Columbus relics?”
“Yes, and did you see this one?” asked Dorothy, holding up a card to view. “It’s the little Japanese Garden on the Wooded Island in the same park.”
“Look!” exclaimed Alfy, showing them all another card, “here is one of the Art Institute!”
Mrs. Calvert, who had been searching through the various cards, said, “I think these three arevery interesting, this of the store, this one of our hotel, and this other of the Life Saving Station in the park.”
“Well, have you all selected those you wish?” said Dorothy. “Because, if you have, we can all go over there to the writing room and send them all right off.”
“What a beautifully appointed room,” said Mrs. Calvert, as they entered the spacious, well lighted writing room, with the mahogany desks and generous supply of good quality writing paper, pens, ink-wells, etc. There was also in the corner a stamp machine, in which one deposits the right change and secures the desired number of stamps in return.
“I want to send cards to Ma and Pa Babcock. Ma always likes me to, so she can show them down at Liza Jane’s,” said Alfy.
“I would like to send one to Gerald Banks and his sister, and, of course, to Jim,” said Dorothy.
“I think there are just two I wish to send. I want to send one to Mrs. Quarren,” rejoined Ruth, “and if you do not mind, I think I should like to send one to Jim, also.”
“Of course I don’t object,” laughed Dorothy. “Jim would be pleased to think you had rememberedhim. But let me see which one you are going to send him so I may send him a different one.”
“Very well,” answered Ruth. “I will send the one of the hotel.”
“And I,” responded Dorothy, “will send the one of the lake and Wooded Island in Jackson Park.”
“I think I shall send Jim a card also,” said Mrs. Calvert. “But I shall send him the one of the store. My list is just a little longer than all you girls’ lists. I shall send cards to Frau and Herr Deichenberg, little Lemuel and old Ephraim, and Jim, whom I mentioned before.”
“Shall I get the stamps?” said Ruth.
“Can I go with you?” asked Alfy. “I want to see how the machine works.”
“Certainly, come on,” added Ruth. “How many shall we need?”
“You had better get fifteen,” answered Mrs. Calvert.
“You see,” remarked Ruth to Alfaretta, “that one can only deposit nickels and dimes in the slot.”
“What are you going to put in?” questioned Alfy.
“I am going to deposit first a dime and then a nickel in the slot that’s marked for one cent stamps,” replied Ruth, suiting her actions to her words and picking up the stamps which the machine dropped into the receiving tray.
“That’s real fun,” said Alfaretta. “I’d always buy stamps here, but Ma Babcock would not like it.”
“Why not?” asked Ruth.
“Because Ma always wants to talk, and would not think she had her money’s worth without it.”
They put the stamps on the cards and then mailed them in the large gilt mail box near the door in the corner.
“I guess it’s most time for us to go back to the hotel for luncheon,” said Aunt Betty.
“Almost,” replied Ruth, looking at her small gold watch. “It’s now just eleven-thirty.”
“I want to get some blue ribbon,” said Dorothy, “before we leave for the hotel.”
“And I must get a veil,” added Ruth.
The girls departed on their quests and in less than two minutes met Mrs. Calvert at the door and all went back together to the hotel for luncheon. It was a quiet mid-day meal, and as soon as it was over they had to devote their attentionto their trunks, as they were to leave that afternoon for their next stopping place.
Mr. Dauntrey and Mr. Ludlow attended to the baggage and the tickets and very soon all were ready.
Just as they were leaving the hotel to go to the station, Mr. Dauntrey singled Ruth out, and approaching her, said, “Will you come and walk down with me?”
“With pleasure,” said the girl, suiting her steps to his, and they started slowly to stroll down to the station.
“I have a box of Huyler’s here for you,” remarked Mr. Dauntrey. “I thought perhaps you would like it. I thought it would be nice for you to have on the train.”
“Why thank you ever so much. You are very kind.”
“Not half as kind as I would like to be, if you would only afford me the opportunity.”
Ruth made some answer that turned the conversation to some less personal subject. She kept up a run of chatter about indifferent matters.
So many people were upon the streets and so many conveyances on the roadways that progress was slow, and when they reached the station theyfound Mr. Ludlow very much provoked that Ruth should have kept them all waiting, nearly causing the loss of their train.
“Couldn’t you have walked a little faster, Ruth?” Mr. Ludlow asked. “Or taken the stage to the station if you were so tired? This must not happen again.”
Ruth, who disliked being reprimanded before everybody, angrily exclaimed, “Well, you didn’t have to wait here for me, I am sure, for you might have known that Mr. Dauntrey is capable of taking care of me, and, aside from that, I think I can take pretty good care of myself.”
Mr. Ludlow did not reply, but hurried them to their private car, the others of the party having preceded him. Very shortly they were speeding on their way.
Mrs. Calvert read a book, and Dorothy and Alfy were merrily chatting over their trip, so Ruth turned away from Mr. Ludlow and busied herself talking to Mr. Dauntrey and nibbling his chocolates and bon bons.
Mr. Ludlow, who had most of the time been looking out of the window, turned to Mrs. Calvert and said, “I think it looks as if we were going to have a bad storm. It looks to me as if theclouds have been following us up, and I’m afraid we are going to get it in a little while good and plenty.”
Mrs. Calvert looked out of the window and saw the storm clouds approaching and gathering for the downpour, and then her eyes wandered to the river beside which the train ran.
“Just look!” she exclaimed, pointing to the water. “Look, quick, at the river!”
“That is quite remarkable,” said Mr. Ludlow. “Just see how high the water is and how fast it is flowing.”
“Why it seems to be rising higher and higher by the minute as we go along,” responded Mrs. Calvert. “I can’t understand it, can you?”
“Oh!” shrieked Ruth at this moment, clinging to Mr. Dauntrey’s hand. “Oh, what an awful flash of lightning! Oh, how I hate an electric storm! Lightning scares me half to death.”
“I like it,” replied Alfy, looking across the dark, turbulent, swiftly moving stream. “I always like to watch it. And ‘up mounting’ we do have some awful storms. You remember them, don’t you, Dorothy?”
“Of course I do. Sometimes, though, I used to get a little scared. They used to be so verybad,” said the girl, and all the people in the car jumped as a loud crash of thunder followed a blazing streak of lightning. The thunder seemed right under their feet and was so loud and so sudden that all were startled for a minute.
Ruth jumped up and grabbed Mr. Ludlow around the neck and hid her face in his shoulder, moaning, “Oh, oh, I don’t like this at all.”
Mr. Ludlow, although he did not like to see the girl so overcome with nervousness, was decidedly happy that she should turn to him, and hoped perhaps that the storm would last forever, if he could continue to hold Ruth to him.
This awful clap was followed by another flash of lightning which lit up the car brighter than daylight. Mrs. Calvert, who was facing the window, looked out and gasped, “Oh, why don’t they stop the train?”
Then they all heard a mighty splash and the train gave a terrible lurch and threw those standing over on the floor and those sitting had a hard time to keep their places.
All the lights immediately went out and Alfy shouted, “We are struck!”
Some of the party shrieked and one or two fainted dead away. None could see the others inthe terrible, black darkness in which they were enveloped.
At last, after a prolonged silence that seemed ages, Mrs. Calvert said. “Is any one hurt?”
Everyone began to collect their scattered thoughts by this time, and Mr. Ludlow had managed to rise from his fallen position and get Ruth up and into a seat. He grouped about in the pitch blackness into which they had been plunged and finally found his chair. He deftly managed to retain Ruth’s hand in his, in order to reassure her.
The answer Mrs. Calvert received in general was that everyone was safe and physically unharmed and mentally as near right as could be expected.
Mrs. Calvert then asked, “Did anyone see out of the window when the flash of lightning lit up this car?” And when she had received answer that no one had, she continued: “I happened to be sitting facing the window and when the flash came I saw out very plainly.”
“What did you see?” questioned Mr. Ludlow, in a firm voice.
“The river,” responded Mrs. Calvert. “The river was up to the tracks.”
The fact was suggestive of further danger,and then Dorothy questioned, “What was the crash? And why did the train lurch so? And why are all the lights out?”
“Maybe,” suggested Alfy, “maybe we were struck with lightning. Do you think so, Aunt Betty?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I can’t understand where the train hands can be. They should be here to tell us what has happened.”
“Do you suppose we have struck another train?” questioned Dorothy.
“Oh,” groaned Ruth. “I wish we could have some lights. It’s so dark I am afraid something will happen, and maybe some one will be killed.”
“Hush, child,” remarked Mr. Ludlow. “Just be thankful things are no worse than they are, that we are all safe alive and none of us are hurt.”
Ruth subsided to silence and sobbed beneath her breath. Just then, George, the old negro porter, broke in on the excited party and endeavored to tell what was the matter.
“Lord o’ Mercy, massa!” he exclaimed. “De train am wrecked. The ingin and one ob de baggage cars did fall off these track, plump, splash, right in de water.”
“That’s what the crash and splash and jerkwas that we felt. The water was so high that it probably came up on the tracks here, and the engine and baggage car jumped the weakened trestle into the water. I wonder how it was it didn’t pull the rest of the train into the water also,” said Mr. Ludlow.
Just then the conductor and a brakeman passing from the next car through their own explained what had occurred to Mr. Ludlow and the other interested listeners.
First lighting the gas lamps to dispel the semi-darkness, the conductor said, “Sir, you see the lightning struck the train right between the first passenger car and the baggage, severing the connection, and leaving the engine and baggage car free to go ahead. They did, and running a little farther ahead it jumped the track, but no one was hurt. The shock somehow set the brakes, and brought the remaining cars to a stop. It’s lucky we held to the tracks, sir, it is indeed.”
“Did anyone in the passenger cars get hurt?” questioned Mr. Ludlow.
“No, sir, only a few fainted,” answered the conductor.
“What are we going to do now? We have no power to go ahead, and we can’t even go back.We can’t move. Are we to stay right where we are, conductor?”
“For a time, we must,” was the answer.
“When is another train due here?” questioned Mrs. Calvert.
“A train is due to come through this way in an hour and a half, madam,” said the conductor. “But that will not help us any to go ahead. We have sent word back and may expect help from the nearest station. Some arrangement can likely be made to switch us off on a branch road, and by a circuitous route we can get back again to our line.”
“And how about our concert to-night?”
“If help is promptly sent we may get you there on time.”
“We were due at five o’clock,” said Mr. Ludlow.
“We can’t promise you anything definite now,” said the conductor, as he went about his duties.
“All we can do is to just sit still and hope for aid, and that it will come in time,” said Mrs. Calvert.
“I’m afraid that’s all, except to be thankful that we were not killed,” suggested Mr. Ludlow.
The exact idea of their position was finallygrasped by all, and everyone breathed a little prayer for having been saved so miraculously. They all quieted down and prepared to sit there and wait, and hope for the arrival of a train bringing aid. An hour and a half, so they had been told, and that hour and a half seemed the longest hour and a half that most of them had ever experienced.
Finally they heard a shout from one of the brakemen, a glad shout, a joyous sign, they thought, and then the conductor came through and announced, “Sir, a small repair train has just come up to us. They sent it out very promptly, as they thought that we might be in even more serious need than we are.”
“Can it take us back, then?” asked Mr. Ludlow, and the rest of the company sighed in relief, because they now knew that they were safe and would eventually be pulled out of their present position.
“It can take back two cars, sir,” answered the conductor, “and would you object, sir, if I put some other passengers in here with you?”
“Not at all,” answered Mr. Ludlow. “Bring in as many as you wish. We will be only too glad to have them.”
The conductor departed, returning in a little time, accompanied by about a dozen women and half as many small children, saying, “I brought the women and young ones, as I thought that they would be more comfortable in here.”
Dorothy and Ruth, alert and interested, forgot their own discomfort in rendering aid to others, anxious and in distress.
“They have connected the little repair train engine to the two cars,” the conductor announced, “and we will be off in a short time now. We are going back up the road a little way and branch off, and so recover the main line. We think we will get you to your destination in time for your concert.”
This was done, but with little time to spare, and if all the artists were not quite up to their usual standard of excellence that night, the experience of the afternoon was quite sufficient excuse.
The remainder of the trip to St. Louis was without event of note. The accident on the train was not without its advantages in the way of publicity, and their concerts drew large audiences. In St. Louis two concerts were given, both being very successful.
In the sequence of events the tour came to an end. A twenty-weeks’ season had been successfully carried through. There had been, of course, hampering and untoward conditions to surmount. An occasional discordant note was struck. Mr. Carleton, who acted as accompanist when no orchestra was employed, turned out to be rather an arbitrary individual, and had caused Ruth, particularly, many a heart-ache. Dorothy, with her winning responsiveness to an artistic temperament, felt that she had less cause to complain.
Her affair with Jim had not of late been plain sailing. She had not written to him very often or a bit regularly, and he had entered a rather arbitrary protest, so she thought, and one letter at least, that she had addressed to him had gone astray. Then Jim reached the conclusion that his letters were not appreciated, and that absence had caused an estrangement. He nursed his resentmentinto a cauldron of bitterness, and with the perverseness of lovers built mountains of molehills. Not but that such ephemeral erections may, and oftimes do, cast a shadow that will blot out true regard.
Without a tried and certain knowledge of her heart as concerned Jim, Dorothy had found the ever gentlemanly attentions of Mr. Dauntrey very agreeable. Ruth, on such occasions, was inclined to resentful looks and acts, of which, however, Dorothy was sublimely ignorant.
One day, journeying from Sacramento to San Francisco, it had been observed that Mr. Dauntrey and Alfy were in close consultation, an unusual event for those two to find a subject of mutual interest. Later, in a spirit of fun, Dorothy chided her companion.
“So you have won over Mr. Dauntrey,” cried Dorothy, laughing.
“Nonsense,” said Alfy, but blushing rosily.
“But for two hours on the train you monopolized him entirely. What did you find to talk about?”
“Well, for one thing, we were talking about you,” was the defensive response.
“About me, Alfy, what could you have been saying about me?”
“I was telling him,” said Alfy, hesitatingly, “about your English inheritance.”
“Oh, but I wonder you did that. I asked that nothing be said about it. For, as you know, nothing has ever come of the matter, and nothing may. The locket has never been found, and the lawyer says that there are other ‘seemingly insurmountable requirements.’ My, what big words. I wonder I could string them all together.”
“Well,” went on Alfy, in her further defense, “he asked about you, and I couldn’t see that there was any harm.”
“No real harm, Alfy. And I hoped for Aunt Betty’s sake that there was an inheritance assured. She is so worried about Bellevieu. The mortgages and taxes seem to eat up everything. I have given her, of course, all of my earnings, but she says things are still going badly.”
“What are we to do now?” asked Alfy, seeking another subject. “Go home?”
“Mr. Ludlow has made some arrangements for Ruth to sing and for me to play here in San Francisco, at private houses of the rich. As youknow, all of the others except Mr. Dauntrey, have gone east, their contracts expired.”
Their conversation was interrupted, now, by Aunt Betty, who came into the room.
“Here is a much belated letter,” she exclaimed, “the envelope all marked up with forwarding addresses. It must have been traveling about for quite some time.”
“It’s from Jim,” cried Dorothy, and quickly broke the seal. The postmark the letter bore was a date fully two months back, and the first few lines were, to the recipient very pleasing ones, till she remembered that they were written before their late disagreement. But the major part of the letter bore upon a subject that concerned them all, and this she read aloud.
“It’s about Lem,” cried Dorothy. “Mr. Van Zandt has made some quite wonderful discoveries. And just to think, it all comes about through that sampler you found, Alfy. But let me read:
“I have some interesting news concerning Lemuel Haley, the boy your camping party found in the thick woods crying that night. It was a lucky thing for the boy that Mrs. Babcock gave Alfaretta that sampler, for from just such a simple little thing as that, we have been able to traceall of Lem’s family history, bringing out a sufficient, although I will not say good, reason for his uncle’s mistreatment of him.“Lemuel Haley’s mother was Hannah Woodrow. The very same girl that summered with Mrs. Babcock, and remained there attending the little village school for one whole year. She was a very delicate girl, not particularly pretty and very shy. She had large limpid brown eyes, and was of small build.“She returned to Baltimore, after her year in the mountains, and lived the regulation life of a wealthy farmer’s daughter. There Mr. Haley, a traveling salesman, so he told her family, fell in love with her or—her money, and when both her father and mother died quite suddenly, the traveling salesman made it his business to woo the lonely girl. He wished to marry her immediately and protect her, so he told her, and was so persistent that the poor distracted, grief-stricken girl finally gave him her promise, and within a month of her parents’ death married him. At once he proceeded to dissipate her fortune, and, to make a long story short, the poor girl died when Lem was born. The father was later killed by an accident.“Lem’s only relative, it was found, was an uncle who lived in the South. This man volunteered to take the little one, and was made legal guardian and controller of the remnant of the fortune. The child was a weak, delicate boy, and this uncle, a cruel, planning man, figured that if he worked Lem very hard all the time, he would eventually break down, and then he would come in for the child’s money. Thus, the poor boy was driven to desperation, and finally ran away. You know better than I do, the incidents connected with his rescue.“I have prepared all necessary legal papers as to the facts, to prove that Mr. Haley was and is an unfit guardian for the child, and will present these to the court.”
“I have some interesting news concerning Lemuel Haley, the boy your camping party found in the thick woods crying that night. It was a lucky thing for the boy that Mrs. Babcock gave Alfaretta that sampler, for from just such a simple little thing as that, we have been able to traceall of Lem’s family history, bringing out a sufficient, although I will not say good, reason for his uncle’s mistreatment of him.
“Lemuel Haley’s mother was Hannah Woodrow. The very same girl that summered with Mrs. Babcock, and remained there attending the little village school for one whole year. She was a very delicate girl, not particularly pretty and very shy. She had large limpid brown eyes, and was of small build.
“She returned to Baltimore, after her year in the mountains, and lived the regulation life of a wealthy farmer’s daughter. There Mr. Haley, a traveling salesman, so he told her family, fell in love with her or—her money, and when both her father and mother died quite suddenly, the traveling salesman made it his business to woo the lonely girl. He wished to marry her immediately and protect her, so he told her, and was so persistent that the poor distracted, grief-stricken girl finally gave him her promise, and within a month of her parents’ death married him. At once he proceeded to dissipate her fortune, and, to make a long story short, the poor girl died when Lem was born. The father was later killed by an accident.
“Lem’s only relative, it was found, was an uncle who lived in the South. This man volunteered to take the little one, and was made legal guardian and controller of the remnant of the fortune. The child was a weak, delicate boy, and this uncle, a cruel, planning man, figured that if he worked Lem very hard all the time, he would eventually break down, and then he would come in for the child’s money. Thus, the poor boy was driven to desperation, and finally ran away. You know better than I do, the incidents connected with his rescue.
“I have prepared all necessary legal papers as to the facts, to prove that Mr. Haley was and is an unfit guardian for the child, and will present these to the court.”
This pleasing news was interestedly discussed, and a happy future argued for the boy.
The following morning, Mr. Dauntrey was early at the breakfast table, with a proposition that the party should visit Tamalpais. The day was beautifully clear, and on no other is a trip to the mountain’s summit interesting. Mr. Ludlow could not go, but the ladies accepted with alacrity, and a prompt start was made. Glorious sights indeed are revealed, as the railroad windsits way to the apex of this peak, the highest so near an American city.
Lunch was served at the summit house, but Dorothy was so interested in the views obtainable from the various vantage points that she wandered away from the others while they were still seated at the table.
When her absence was noted, Mr. Dauntrey sought her out, at first unsuccessfully, then seeking for her in a secluded view point seldom visited, he heard her voice, and found that, in her anxiety to attain a high rock, she had lost her footing, and catching for a support had sprained her ankle. She had as well badly torn her dress.
Her rescuer was all gallantry and courtesy, and assisted her to a seat near at hand. He would have carried her to the train platform, but this proffer Dorothy declined.
“I shall be able to walk, shortly,” she explained. “It is not a severe sprain and the pain is bearable, and only acute when I put my weight on my foot.”
“A few moments’ rest will help to set you right,” said Mr. Dauntrey, and then added, looking into her eyes, “Do you know, I wish you hadbeen in some real serious danger, and that I had been privileged to render aid.”
“I thank you for what you have done, and now let’s go to the others,” quickly interposed the girl. But one effort to rest her weight upon her foot dissuaded her from any further immediate endeavor, and so she sought, unsuccessfully, to turn the conversation in other directions.
“Do you know,” he repeated, “that I would like to render such service that you would never wish for any other servitor?”
“Please,” said Dorothy, “let’s talk about the wonderful view of sea and forest and the heaven above.”
“I am intense in my admiration of all that is beautiful, and above all, permit me to say that I admire the beautiful Dorothy.” She raised her hand in protest, but he continued. “May I quote for you a little gem that is aptly expressive of my sentiments?”
“Well,” laughed Dorothy, quizzically looking at her foot, “I am at your mercy.”
The man by her side did not venture to touch her hand, which rested on the bench almost beside his own, but, with earnest intensity of his manner, he leaned forward and looked longingly, nay lovingly,into her eyes till they fell before his gaze. His face, handsome and animated, his voice musical and well modulated. Every word was spoken slowly as if to admit of certain assimilation.