Dorothy Dale's Great Secret

  CHAPTER XXII IN DIRE DISTRESS

  Dorothy had traveled in parlor cars before but had never ridden in asleeper, which was the style of coach she now found herself in. The trainwas a through one from the west and, as the regular parlor cars were fullNed had to get a ticket in the sleeper which, by day, is much the same asa parlor car.

  As the porter set her valise down and arranged a seat for her near theladies' retiring room Dorothy's heart beat fast, and, though thesurroundings were new and novel to her she took no interest in them. Butas the train whistled off, and the other passengers began moving about,Dorothy lifted her head and glanced around.

  For a moment she felt that some mistake had been made. Surely this was notrain for ladies, for not a woman was in sight, instead the entire carseemed filled with men in various stages of incomplete toilets. Some wereadjusting their neckties as they walked through the aisle, others werefastening shoe laces, and a few buckling their belts or slipping on theircoats.

  Then she noticed, for the first time, that the car was a sleeper, for theinterior was so dark because of the train shed when she entered that shecould not tell what it was. She saw the berths on both sides, with heavycurtains lining the aisle. Only one or two beds had been shut up andturned into seats like the one she was occupying.

  Dorothy was annoyed. Was she to make her lonely trip in company with acar full of men? She had expected, when she planned her journey, thatthere would be other girls and ladies in the coach in which she was totravel, and that she might appeal to them in case of need. But a wholecar full of men!

  She looked about for the little electric call button, and, finding it inthe casement at the side of the window, pressed it vigorously. It wassome time before the porter responded as, all along his route, theomnipresent men claimed his attention for various services. But finallyhe reached the end of the car where the girl in the blue sailor suit satup very prim and stiff, waiting for him.

  "Is this--er--a ladies' car?" she asked timidly.

  "A ladies' car? Oh, yes, miss. This is all right. This is the car forRochester."

  "But I--never was in a car like--like this before," Dorothy objected,glancing about at the men who were still struggling in the aisles withvarious refractory articles of clothing.

  For a moment the porter seemed puzzled. Then, all at once, he understoodDorothy's objection.

  "Oh, them's only the gentlemen gettin' ready to leave, miss. They'll allbe out soon, and you'll have more room. Anything I can do for you, miss?"

  "No," and Dorothy just checked herself from adding "thank you," which shefelt would not be quite proper, and would show that she was unused to theattention of a porter. Then the colored attendant made his way down theaisle, while the only girl in the car held her face close against thewindow pane and fell to thinking of the task that lay before her.

  She was not now troubled about the car and the occupants. If it was allright, and she would be brought safely to Rochester in it, that was allshe had to consider. Of course it would have been less lonely to have hadthe usual day coach passengers with her, but she thought Ned must haveselected this car and she felt he knew best. Then, too, the porter hadsaid the men were rapidly leaving their berths and as soon as they did sothe colored man made the folding beds into broad velvet seats, similar tothe one occupied by Dorothy.

  When these seats had replaced the hanging curtains, and the comfortableplaces were occupied by the men who had been so lately sleeping, eventhough there were no women among them, Dorothy recovered from her firstshock of embarrassment. The passengers all appeared to be gentlemen andnot one of them seemed to even glance in her direction, though they musthave realized how strange it was for a pretty girl to be the lone femalepassenger.

  When the spasm of brushing clothes into which the porter threw himself,was finally over, which operation Dorothy could not help watching for itwas done with such dispatch, and when the men had gone to the dining carfor breakfast or become engrossed in their newspapers, she tried to mapout her day's programme.

  "I will get off at Rochester," she told herself, "and then I'll inquirefor the Criterion Theatre." She looked at the slip of paper which shecarried so carefully in the little brown leather wrist bag. "Then," shewent on, "if the company has left Rochester I will go to Rockdale. But ifit should get dark!" she cried in a low wail of terror. "If it should getdark and I should be all alone in a strange city!"

  Then came the thought of the folks at home and how they would worry ifnight came on and she did not reach them. Was ever a girl so situated?

  All sorts of dangers flashed before her mind, and now, though too late,she realized sharply how unfit a young girl is to cope with a big,strange world, how little the world cares for a girl's tender feelings,and how cold and heartless it is when she tries to make her way throughthe city streets alone, yet crowded on every side by a throng of otherhuman beings.

  "But Tavia had to go through it," concluded Dorothy, "and I must not beless brave than was she."

  The train was somewhat delayed on the run from Buffalo to Rochester, soit was almost noon when Dorothy reached the latter city.

  On a slip of paper she had the directions of the theatre she wished tovisit, and at the ticket station learned where the building was located.Then off she started, with never a look at the shop windows filled withwonderful displays of all kinds. She soon found the amusement resort, andstepping into the lobby, approached the ticket window and asked timidly:

  "Can you tell me where the 'Lady Rossmore's Secret' company is playingto-night?"

  The man looked at her sharply. Then he smiled so ironically thatDorothy's heart gave a painful thump, and a great lump came into herthroat.

  "'Lady Rossmore's Secret' company," he repeated, with the most prolongedand distracting drawl. "I guess there isn't any. It's down and out.Didn't play to a house here last night big enough to pay the gas bills."

  "But the members of the company?" asked Dorothy with a choke in hervoice.

  "Hum! How should I know?" he asked with a sneer. "In jail, maybe, for notpaying their board bills."

  For a moment Dorothy felt that she must cry out and tell him that thematter was very vital to her--that she must find a young and friendlessgirl who was a member of the company; but she realized what sort of a manhe was and her better judgment asserted itself.

  "But are there any members of the company in this city?" she persistedbravely, trying to keep up her courage, so as to get a clue as to thewhereabouts of Tavia.

  "In this city?" he repeated with the same distracting drawl. "Well, no.They managed to get out of here before the sheriff could attach theirbaggage and the scenery, which he was ready to do. They certainly were aspoor a company as we ever had in this theatre. It was awful. Oh, no, theydidn't dare stay here."

  "Then where did they go?"

  "Rockdale was their next booked place, but maybe they didn't dare gothere, for fear some word had been sent on ahead," the ticket sellersneered.

  "How can I get to Rockdale?" asked the girl, trying to keep back hertears.

  "Get there on a train, of course," and the man turned back to the paperhe had been reading when Dorothy came in. Perhaps he was angry becauseshe had not purchased a ticket to the current attraction.

  "If you would be--be kind enough to direct me," pleaded Dorothy. "I am astranger here, and I must find a--a young girl who is with that company."

  Something in her voice and manner seemed to touch the rather indifferentman, for he straightened up in his tall chair and looked squarely andmore kindly at Dorothy.

  "Oh, that's it, is it? I didn't know. I have a lot of silly girls alwaysasking about traveling companies after they've left here, and I thoughtyou might be one of them. Now you're talking. Yes, of course, certainly.If you've got to find anybody connected with that company you'd better bequick about it, for I should think there wouldn't be much left of 'em bythis time. I heard they had quite a time of it getting their trunks a
wayfrom here. Held up for board, you know. But of course they're used tothat sort of thing."

  Dorothy took hold of the brass rail in front of her as she turned awayfrom the window. She felt as if she could hardly stand any more of theman's veiled insinuations. But it might not be true--surely it could notbe true--it was only his cruel, teasing way. Tavia could not be in suchdistress.

  "How can I get there?" Dorothy repeated.

  "If you want to get to Rockdale," the ticket seller answered after apause, "you can take the train at twelve forty-five."

  "Thank you," murmured Dorothy, turning dizzily toward the street to makeher way to the station she had so recently left. How she managed to reachthe place she never knew. The great buildings along the way seemed aboutto topple over on her head. Her temples were throbbing and her eyes shotout streaks of flashing light. Her knees trembled under her. If only shehad time to get something to eat! But she must not miss that train. Itmight be the last one that day.

  Through the crowd of waiting persons she made her way to the ticketoffice and purchased the slip of cardboard that entitled her to a ride.She learned that the train was late and that she would have to wait tenminutes. Grateful for that respite Dorothy turned to the little lunchcounter to get a sandwich, and some coffee. But, before she had reachedthe end of the big depot where refreshments were sold, she suddenlystopped--some one had grabbed her skirt.

  Turning quickly Dorothy beheld a crouching, cringing figure, almostcrawling so as to hide herself in the crowd.

  "Girl!" cried Dorothy, trying to shake off the grasp on her skirt. "Letme go! What do you want?"

  "Don't you know me?" whispered the miserable creature. "Look again--don'tyou know--Urania, the Gypsy girl?"

  Then beneath the rags and the appearance of age that seemed, in so shorta time to have hidden the identity of this young girl, Dorothy didrecognize Urania. How wretched--how forlorn she was; and even in dangerof arrest if she was seen begging in the depot.

  "Don't turn away from me, Miss!" pleaded the unfortunate Gypsy girl."Please help me!"

  She stretched out to Dorothy a dirty, trembling hand. The gate to theRockdale train had been thrown open, and Dorothy felt that the time wasalmost up.

  "You should go home," she said, dropping a coin into the outstretchedpalm.

  "Yes, yes, I want to go home," cried the girl, and Dorothy was afraid hervoice would attract attention in the crowd. But the passengers were toobusy rushing for their trains to heed anything else. "I want to go home,"pleaded Urania. "You should take me home,--it was your fine cousin--theboy with the taffy-colored hair--that brought me here!"

  "What!" cried Dorothy. "How dare you say such a thing?"

  "Ask him, then, if it isn't so. And ask him if he wasn't in this verystation an hour ago, looking for some one--that red-headed girl, likely."

  "Do you mean to say you saw my cousin here to-day?" gasped Dorothy."Come; tell me the truth and you shall go home--I'll take you homemyself--only tell me the truth."

  "Yes, I'll do it," answered the girl. "Well, him and his brother came inhere an hour ago. They asked the man at the window if he had seen a younggirl with a brown hand bag. I stood near to listen, but kept out ofsight. Then they dashed off again before I could ask them for a penny, orthrow it up to that dandy that it was the ride he gave me in the autothat brought me to this."

  "Don't talk so!" exclaimed Dorothy, much shocked. "Do you want to go backto the camp where your people are?" She was too dumfounded at the news toargue with the wild creature.

  "Yes, oh, yes, back to the camp!" and Urania's eyes flashed. "They'lltake me back. Even Melea would not turn me out now for I am sick andsorrowful."

  It needed but a glance to see that in this, at least, the girl spoketruthfully.

  "Come," ordered Dorothy, "I'll take care of you. But first I must getsomething to eat. We have a few minutes."

  Without heeding the attention she attracted by almost dragging the beggargirl up to the lunch counter, Dorothy made her way there and orderedcoffee and sandwiches for both. She hurriedly disposed of her own share,being only a little behind Urania, who ate as though famished. Then,hastily procuring another ticket, she bolted through the door, followedby the Gypsy, who seemed to take it all as a matter of course.

  The ride was, for the most part, a silent one. Dorothy was busy with herthoughts, and the Gypsy girl was almost afraid to speak.

  "But you will see me to my home--to the camp?" she pleaded once.

  "Yes," answered Dorothy. "But you must have patience--I have somethingmore important to attend to first."

  "I can wait," answered the little Gypsy.

  The Rockdale station was a brick structure, with a modest waiting-roomfor women passengers at the far end. It was there that Dorothy tookUrania as they left the train which steamed away into the distance. Theroom was without a single occupant, a matter of rejoicing to Dorothy, asshe had already experienced considerable difficulty in passing withUrania through the ordinary marts of travel.

  "Now you stay here," she told the Gypsy girl, "and I'll go out and getyou something. You must be sure to stay in this corner, and eat carefullyso as not to make crumbs. If the station agent should speak to you whileI'm gone, just tell him you are waiting for--for a lady, who told you notto leave this room until she returned."

  Willingly enough Urania sank down on a corner of the bench, and tried tosmile her thanks at Dorothy. But Dorothy was too excited to notice thefeeble effort. She hurried to a little store opposite the station, boughtsome crackers and cakes, and after putting the package into the Gypsy'shands, with another word of caution, was off again, this time to find theLyceum Theatre.

  It seemed to Dorothy that any place must be easy to find in a small town,and when she was directed to the theatre by a man on the street, she wasnot surprised to find that it was but a few blocks from the depot.

  Hurrying along, she reached a big hall, for the Lyceum, in spite of itsname, was nothing but a big country hall, with the additional attractionof iron fire escapes. She knocked at the big broad wooden door, but soondiscovered that the place was locked up and, evidently, deserted. Shemade a number of inquiries of boys she saw nearby, but all theinformation she could elicit from the urchins amounted to nothing morethan laughter and "guying" to the effect that the company had come togrief in its attempt to give Rockdale folks a hint as to what LadyRossmore's "Secret" was. It appeared that the company had arrived intown, but had at once gotten into legal difficulties because of sometrouble back in Rochester.

  "But where are the members of the company?" Dorothy asked of one boy whowas larger than his companions, and who had not been so ready to make funof the unfortunates.

  "Some's gone back home I guess, that is if they has homes--some's hanging'round the hotel, where their trunks was attached as soon as the baggageman brought 'em in--some's sitting around on the benches in the green.Guess none of 'em had any dinner to-day, for them hotel people is as meanas dirt."

  "Where is the hotel?"

  "That's the hotel, over there," answered the boy, pointing to a buildingon the opposite corner. "Mansion House, they call it, though I nevercould see much of a mansion about that old barn."

  The afternoon was wearing away and Dorothy felt that she must make allpossible haste if she was to get back to North Birchland that night, asshe knew she must for her own sake. So, thanking the boy she hurried overto the hotel, and, after making some inquiries of a number of loungers onthe broad, low veranda, was directed to the office.

  She asked some questions regarding the whereabouts of members of thetheatrical company, but the man at the dingy old desk was inclined tomake inquiries himself, rather than answer Dorothy's. He wanted to knowif she had called to settle up for any of the "guys" and if not hedemanded to know if she took him for a bureau of information or a publicphonograph, and he grinned delightfully at his feeble wit.

  "I don't keep tabs on every barn-storming theatrical company," he growledout. "Much as I kin do to look after their bagga
ge and see they don'tskin me--that's my game in a case like this."

  Dorothy pleaded with him to give her any information he might have as tothe whereabouts of any girl or woman member of the company, but he wasugly, evidently because of the loss of some money or patronage inconnection with the theatrical fiasco, and would not give so much as anencouraging word.

  Dorothy looked about but could see no one who seemed to be an actor oractress. She had learned in a measure to know the type. Fairly sick anddisheartened she turned away. How could she give up now, when she feltthat Tavia must be almost within hearing of her voice? How loudly herheart cried out! Surely some kind fate would bear that cry to Tavia's earand bring her to her friend Dorothy--for now Dorothy felt that she couldhardly go many steps farther in her weary search.

  She heard a train steam into the station and go on without making a stop.

  "Oh," thought Dorothy, "if we could only get a train back again soon! ButI can not give her up! I must--must find her wherever she is!"

  Exhausted and discouraged, she sank down by the roadside at a grassy spotwhere the street turned into a country park. She felt that she mustcry--she would feel better when she had cried--out there alone--away fromthe cruel persons--away from the seemingly cruel fate that was sorelentlessly urging her on beyond her strength--beyond the actual powerof human endurance. Was there ever so wretched a girl as was Dorothy Daleat that moment? Yes, she would indulge in a good cry--she knew it wouldrelieve her nerves--and then she could go on.

  The rough boys, playing nearby saw the girl sitting beside the road and,whether out of kindness or curiosity they hastened over to the place andstood looking down at Dorothy in respectful silence.

  "Did they do anyt'ing to youse?" asked a little fellow with a ring ofvengeance in his small, shrill voice. "Dem hotel guys is too fresh, an'me fader is goin'--he's goin' t' do somet'ing to dem if dey don't lookout."

  "Dat's right," spoke up another. "His fader is de sheriff an' he's goin't' 'rest 'em, if dey don't pay der own bills, fer all der talk of holdin'de show trunks."

  Dorothy raised her head. Surely these boys were trying to comfort her intheir own rough but earnest way. Perhaps they could help her look forTavia.

  "Do any of you know where the girls of this company are now?" she askedof the boys collectively. "I am searching for a girl with brown hair--"

  She stopped abruptly, realizing how useless it would be to give theseboys a description of Tavia.

  "I sawr a girl wit a big kind of a hat and a little satchel, an' I knowshe was wit de show," volunteered a red-haired urchin. "I was rightalongside of her when she bought five cents' wort' of cakes at Rooney's,an' after dat I seen her sittin' on a bench in de green."

  "Honest?" asked an older boy severely, turning to the one who had giventhe information. "No kiddin' now, Signal, or we'll blow out your redlight," this reference being to the boy's brilliant hair. "We want t'help dis gurl t' find de young lady, don't we fellers?"

  "Sure," came in a ready chorus.

  "I did see her," protested Signal, rubbing his hand over his fiery locksand rumpling them up until they looked like a brush heap ablaze. "I sawrher less 'n hour ago."

  "Where?" asked Dorothy, eagerly.

  "On a bench in de green." And the lad pointed out the direction toDorothy.

  She followed the road to the end and there, stretching out before her wasan open common, or the green, as the boys called it. In the centre was alittle park, where a pretty fountain sent a spray of sparkling water highinto the air. Arranged about it were benches, under shady bowers formedby overhanging bushes, and there were clumps of shrubbery that separatedthe seats, and concealed them.

  Dorothy walked straight to the fountain. She sank down on a bench whereshe could watch the spurting water and listen to the cool tinkle as itfell into the basin. The sun shone through the spray, making a smallrainbow.

  It looked like a sign of hope, but she was too discouraged and dispiritedto place much faith in it. She wanted to see Tavia; yet where was she?Here was the park the boys had spoken of, but there was no sign of themissing girl.

  Dorothy felt she could not stay there long. After a few minutes' rest shearose to make a circuit of the little park, hoping she might haveoverlooked some spot where Tavia might be. As she crossed back of a clumpof shrubbery she saw the skirt of a girl's dress showing on the border ofa little side path. It riveted her attention. She turned down the path.

  There sat a girl--a most forlorn looking girl--her head buried in herarms that rested on the back of a bench. Dorothy could see her shouldersheaving under the stress of heavy sobs.

  She started! She held her breath! It looked like--yet could it beher--was it--she feared to ask herself the question.

  The girl on the bench raised her tear-stained face. She looked full atDorothy.

  "Tavia!" screamed Dorothy, springing forward.

  "Dorothy!" echoed Tavia.

  There was a rush, and the next instant Dorothy Dale held Tavia claspedclose in her arms, while she murmured, over and over again:

  "Tavia! Dear Tavia! I have found you at last! Oh, I am so glad!"

  Tavia could only sob.