The Crimson Thread: An Adventure Story for Girls

  CHAPTER XIV THE NEWSPAPER PICTURE

  Lucile may have been dreaming, but Cordie was wide awake and thinkinghard. The instant Lucile had closed the door behind her she had spreadone of the papers she had bought out before her and, having opened it atpage 3, sat down to look at a picture reproduced there.

  For a full two minutes she sat staring at it.

  "Well anyway, it's not such a bad picture," she chuckled at last.

  After the chuckle her face took on a sober look.

  Then suddenly she exclaimed: "Let's see what they say about it!"

  "Well of all things! Nothing but a line of question marks! Well, at leastthe reporters know nothing about it."

  For a moment she stared at the long line of interrogation points, thenher face dimpled with a smile.

  "Just think," she murmured. "They never whispered one word! Not one ofthem all! Not Patrick O'Hara, nor the old one they called Tim, nor theyoung one, nor even Hogan, who was so angry at me. And I'll bet thereporters begged and tempted them in every way they could think of. Whatwonderful good sports policemen must be. I--I'd like to hug every one ofthem!"

  Then she went skipping across the floor and back again, then paused andstared again at the picture.

  Truth was, all unknown to her, and certainly very much against herwishes, Cordie's picture had gotten into the paper. This was the pictureshe was still staring at: Crowds thronging State Street, a gray-hairedmounted policeman, and by his side, also riding a police horse, a bobbedhaired young girl in a policeman's great coat.

  "What if they see it!" she murmured.

  "They wouldn't let me stay. They will see it too--of course they will."

  "But then, what does it matter?" she exclaimed a moment later."To-morrow's the day before Christmas. What will I care after that?"

  Hearing steps on the stairs, she hastily tore a page out of each of thetwo papers, folded them carefully and thrust them into a drawer. Then shethrew the remaining part of the paper into the waste basket.

  "To-morrow is the day before Christmas," whispered Lucile as two hourslater she sat staring rather moodily at the figures in the worn carpet."A great Christmas, I suppose, for some people. Doesn't look like itwould be much for me. With term bills and room rent staring me in theface, and only a few dollars for paying them, it certainly doesn't lookgood. And here I am with this little pet of mine sleeping on me andeating on me, and apparently no honest way of getting rid of her." Sheshook her finger at the bed where Cordie was sleeping.

  "If only you were an angora cat," she chided, still looking at thedreaming girl, "I might sell you. Even a canary would be better--he'dmake no extra room rent and he'd eat very little."

  "And yet," she mused, "am I sorry? I should say I'm not! It's a long,long life, and somehow we'll struggle through."

  "Christmas," she mused again. "It will be a great Christmas for somepeople, be a wonderful one for Jefrey Farnsworth--that is, it will be ifhe's still alive. I wonder when they'll find him, and where? They saywe've sold two thousand of his books this season. Think of it!"

  After that she sat wondering in a vague and dreamy way about many things.Printed pages relating to the Lady of the Christmas Spirit floated beforeher mind's vision to be followed by a picture of Cordie and the MysteryLady in the art room of the furnishings department. Cordie's iron ring,set with a diamond, glimmered on the strange, long, muscular fingers of ahand. Laurie sold the last copy of "Blue Flames." Jefrey Farnsworth, inthe manner she had always pictured him, tall, dark, with deep-set eyesand a stern face wrinkled by much mental labor, stood before an audienceof women and made a speech. Yellow gold glittered, then spread out like amolten stream. With a start she shook herself into wakefulness. Once moreshe had fallen asleep.

  "Christmas," she whispered as she crept into bed. "To-morrow is the daybefore----"