CHAPTER XV "WITH CONTENTS, IF ANY"
In the meantime Florence had come upon an adventure. The place sheentered a half hour after quitting time was a great barn-like room wheredark shadows lurked in every corner but one. The huge stacks of bags andtrunks that loomed up indistinctly in those dark corners made the placeseem the baggage room of some terminal railway depot.
As she joined the throng in the one light corner of the room she wastreated to another little thrill. Such a motley throng as it was. Jewishsecond-hand dealers, short ones, tall ones, long-bearded ones; men of allraces. And there were two or three women, and not a few vagabonds of thestreet, who had come in for no other purpose than to get out of the cold.Such were those who crowded round the high stand where, with gavel inhand, the auctioneer cried the sale:
"How much am I bid? Ten dollars! Thank you. Ten I have. Who'll make iteleven! 'Leven, 'leven, 'leven. Who'll make it twelve?"
There was not an attractive face in the group that surrounded the block.Florence was tempted to run away; but recalling the surprise she hadpromised herself, she stayed.
Presently her eyes fell upon a face that attracted her, the kindly,gentle face of a woman in her thirties. She was seated at a desk,writing.
"She's the clerk of the sale," Florence thought. "They're selling trunksnow. She may be able to tell me when they will sell bags."
She moved over close to the desk and timidly put her question.
"Do you really want one of those bags?" the woman asked, surprise showingin her tone.
"Yes. Why not?" the girl asked.
"No reason at all, I guess," said the clerk. Then, after looking atFlorence for a moment, a comradely smile spread over her face.
"Come up close," she beckoned. "He'll be selling bags in fifteen minutesor so," she whispered. "Sit down here and wait. Why do you want one ofthose bags so badly?"
"I--I need one," said Florence.
"That's not all the reason."
"No--not--not all," Florence hesitated, then told her frankly of thesurprise she had planned for herself.
The woman's face became almost motherly as she finished.
"I'll tell you what to do," she whispered. "There are just five bags tobe sold in the next lot. You won't want the first one. She--the woman whoowned it, died."
"Oh, no," Florence whispered.
"You won't get the second nor the third. That long bearded Jew, and theslim, dark man standing by the post, will run them high if they have to.They know something about them."
"How--how--"
"How did they find out? I don't know, but they did. The last two bags arequite good ones, good as you would purchase new for fifteen or twentydollars, and I shouldn't wonder," she winked an eye ever so slightly, "Ishouldn't wonder a bit if there'd be a real surprise in one of them foryou. There now, dearie," she smiled, "run over and look at them, overthere beside the green trunk. And don't whisper a word of what I havetold you.
"The one nearest the block will be sold first, and the others just asthey come," she added as the girl rose to go.
Making her way around the outskirts of the crowd, Florence walked over tothe place of the green trunk. The bags were all good, and most of themnearly new. Any one of them, she concluded, would see her safely throughcollege, and that was all that mattered. Then, lest she attract too muchattention, she slunk away into a dark corner.
Her heart skipped a beat when the first bag was put up. Her hopes fellwhen she saw it sell for thirty-two dollars. Her little roll of fifteendollars seemed to grow exceedingly small as she clutched it in her righthand. Was her dream of a surprise for Christmas morning only a dream? Itwould seem so, for the second and third bags also sold for a high figure.But, recalling the little lady's advice, she kept up her courage.
"How much am I bid?" said the auctioneer as the fourth bag was handedhim. Florence caught her breath. She tried to say "Ten dollars," but hertongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. A round faced man relieved her ofthe task. The bag went to eleven dollars, then twelve. Then it came to ahalt, giving time for Florence to regain her voice.
"Twelve and a half," her voice seemed piping and thin in that greatplace. But the auctioneer got it.
"Thank you. Twelve and a half, a half, a half."
"Thirteen! Thank you. Thirteen I have. Now the half," he nodded toFlorence and she nodded back, "And a half, I have it. And a half. Nowfourteen. Thirteen and a half. Now make it fourteen."
"Fourteen," someone shouted. Again the girl's heart sank. What was theuse?
"And a half?" The auctioneer nodded at her and she nodded back.
"Now fifteen. Now fifteen. Now fifteen," he shouted hoarsely. "Who'llmake it fifteen? Fifteen once. Fifteen twice!" Florence crushed her moneyinto a solid mass, "Fifteen three times, and SOLD to the young lady inblue!" His gavel came down with a bang.
Scarcely believing her senses, the girl groped her way forward to receivethe bag, then hurried over to the desk.
"You got it?" smiled the clerk. "Here's hoping it's a beautiful,wonderful surprise!" she whispered as she pressed a lonely half dollarinto the palm of her hand.
Curiosity regarding the price that would be bid for the last bag of thelot held Florence to the spot for the space of three minutes. And thatwas a bit of curiosity which she was destined to regret.
As she stood there listening to the bids she could not help but notice adark man, with burning, hawk-like eyes hurry into the place, glancefrantically about, race back to the place where the five bags had been,then stand stock still. His dark eyes roved about the place until theycame to rest on one spot and that spot was the one occupied by the bagwhich Florence held in her hand. From that time until she left the room,although he pretended to be looking at everything else, she was sure hiseyes did not leave that bag for a space of more than five seconds at anyone time. The cold glitter of his eyes made her feel strangely weak atthe knees.
She had not gone twenty rods from the place when she heard footstepsbehind her. Looking back, she saw that same small dark man coming behindher.
"Just happened to come out then," she tried to reassure herself. But itwas no use. Something within her told her that she was being followed,followed on the deserted city streets at night.
At once a mad procession of questions began racing through her mind. Whowas this man? Was it the bag he wanted? Why? What did he know about thebag? What did it really contain? To none of these questions could sheform an adequate answer. Only one thing stood out clearly in hermind--the bag was hers. She had come by it in an honest manner. The hotelhad a right to give it to the auctioneer to sell. She had a right topurchase it. She had paid for it. She had the bill of sale. It wasrightfully hers.
But even as these thoughts crystallized in her mind she realized that shewas desperately afraid. The man with his burning black eyes was enough toinspire fear, and added to that it was night.
"What am I to do?" she asked herself. "The elevated station is only twoblocks ahead, but he will board the train I take. He will follow me afterI get off and there are five desolate blocks to travel to my room."
Suddenly a solution came to her. Just before her was the entrance to theLaSalle Street Railway Station. Why not walk in there and leave the bagat the checking room? She could return for it in the morning and carry itto the store where she could check it again and leave it until closingtime.
No sooner thought than done. Five minutes later, looking neither to rightnor left, she walked demurely out of the station. She did not know whathad become of her pursuer, and she did not care. The bag was safe. Hecould not get it, and aside from that, what did he care for her, anelevator girl going home from work? Very evidently he cared nothing atall, for she did not see him again that night.
"Fooled him," she smiled to herself as she settled herself comfortably ina seat where she might watch the winter whitened city speed past her."That's the last I'll ever see of him."
In coming to this conclusion
she overlooked one trifling detail. Sincethe night was cold, she had worn beneath her coat her elevator girl'suniform. The auction room was warm. While there she had unbuttoned hercoat, displaying plainly the uniform and the monogrammed buttons on it.The greatest of stores employ few enough elevator girls. To visit eachbank of elevators and to get a look at each girl is but the work of anhour or two at most. The man would have no trouble in locating her if hecared to do so. Since she had not thought of this she rode home hummingin a carefree manner and, after a meal of sandwiches, cocoa and pie,followed by an hour of reading, she went to bed to dream of mysterioustreasures taken by the truck load from the depths of a heavy, dark browntravelling bag.
She awoke in the morning with a pleasing sense of mystery andanticipation lurking about in the shadowy corners of her brain.
Leaping from bed, she went through a series of wild calesthenics whichset every ounce of blood in her veins racing away with new life.
An hour later, with a little suppressed feeling of excitement tugging ather heart and with fingers that trembled slightly, she passed her checkover the counter at the depot. She had some slight feeling that it hadall been a dream. But no, there it was, her mysterious bag, as big andhandsome as ever. It was quite light, but she felt sure it was not empty.What could it contain? She was tempted to draw the key from her pocketthen and there and have a peek. But no--to-morrow was Christmas. Shecould wait. So, seizing the bag, she hurried away to her work.
Once the bag was checked at the store and she back at her lever in thecage that went up and down, up and down all day, she found herselfthinking of that other girl, the mysterious double of hers. Where was sheto-day? Had she really gone to work, or had she vanished? What manner ofplot had she been mixed up in? What train had gone at eleven-thirty?Whose train? Was that girl supposed to go? If so, why did she not wish togo? Where did she live? Who was she anyway?
While the elevator went up and down, up and down, these questions, and ascore of others, kept revolving themselves in her mind. At last she foundherself forming a firm resolve that should she happen upon her mysteriousdouble again she most certainly would keep in touch with her until shefound out more about her.
She saw her mysterious double shortly after she had gone to work, butunder conditions which gave her no opportunity to either study orquestion her. The girl, dressed in her uniform and apparently ready to goto work, was standing before the bank of elevators on the thirteenthfloor. She had been talking in low and excited tones to a tall, squareshouldered man who, in spite of the fact that he was on a floor of thisgreat store where only employees are allowed, had in his bearing and walksomething that spoke strongly of boats and the sea.
"He's been a captain or a mate or something," Florence said to herself asshe sent her cage speeding downward. "I wonder if that girl belongs tothe sea."