The Crimson Thread Part 14

"Some strange little combination," she breathed as she threw the fur about her neck and started once more for the elevator.

As a proof of the fact that she was carrying out her share of the compact, she waited for her own elevator. The strange girl shot her a quick smile as she entered and another as she got off on the third floor where was the rest room and book section.

"Seems terribly queer to be walking around in another girl's clothes,"

she whispered to herself as she drifted aimlessly past rows of people resting in leather cus.h.i.+oned chairs. "Especially when that other girl is someone you've spoken to but once in your life. I wonder--I do wonder why I did it?"

She meditated on this question until she had reached the book section.

"It was the look in her eyes; an eager, haunted look. She's all right, I'd swear to that, and she's in some sort of trouble that's not all her own fault. Trouble," she mused. "Part of our reason for being here in the world is that we may help others out of trouble. I--I guess I'm glad I did it."

Of this last she could not be sure. She had sometimes been mistaken, had bestowed confidence and a.s.sistance on persons who were unworthy. Should this girl prove to be such a person, then she might be helping her to get away with some unlawful act. And she might lose her position, too.

"Oh well," she sighed at last, "it's done. I'll lose my memory of it here among the books." To one who is possessed of a real love for books, it is a simple task to forget all else in a room where there are thousands of them. So completely did Florence forget that she soon lost all consciousness of the role she was playing, and when a rough looking man with a seafaring roll to his walk came marching toward her she could do nothing but stare at him. And when he said, "Howdy Meg," she only stared the harder.

"The train leaves at eleven thirty," he said, twisting his well worn cap in his nervous fingers.

"The--the--" she hesitated. Then of a sudden the words of the girl came back to her.

"Oh! All right," she said in as steady a tone as she could command.

"What say?" asked the man.

"I said 'Oh, all right.'"

"Right it is, then," he said and, turning about, disappeared behind a pile of books.

With her head in a whirl, the girl stood and stared after him.

"The train leaves at eleven thirty," she whispered. It was a few minutes past ten now. Should she go and tell the girl? She had not been instructed in this regard. What sort of an affair was this she was getting into, anyway? Was this girl hiding from her people, attempting to run away? The man had looked rough enough, but he had looked honest, too.

She had wandered about the place in uncertainty for another half hour.

Then a kindly faced women, in a sort of uniform and a strange hat with gold lettered "Seaman's Rest" on its band, accosted her.

"Why, Meg!" she exclaimed. "You still here? The train leaves at eleven-thirty."

There it was again. This time she did not forget.

"Oh! All right!" she exclaimed and turning hurried away as if to make a train.

An hour later, still very much puzzled and not a little worried, she returned to the locker room, took off the borrowed clothes, gave the wonderful fox fur a loving pat, deposited it with the coat and hat, then locked the door.

After that she went to her own locker, put on her wraps preparatory to going to lunch, then walked over to the elevator.

A moment's wait brought her car to her. The other girl was still operating skillfully. Florence pressed the locker key into the girl's hand and stepped to the back of the car. Five minutes later she found herself in the crisp air of a midwinter day.

"And to think," she whispered to herself, "that I'd do that for a total stranger."

As she ate her lunch a resolve, one of the strongest she had ever made, formed itself in her mind. She would become acquainted with her mysterious double and would learn her secret.

"The train leaves at eleven-thirty," she mused. "Well, wherever it might have been going, it's gone." She glanced at the clock which read twelve-fifteen.

And then, of a sudden, all thought of the other girl and her affairs was blotted out by a resolve she had made that very morning. This was Friday.

Day after to-morrow was Christmas. She wanted a surprise on Christmas.

She had started to tell Lucile about it that morning, but while just in the middle of the story the elevator had reached the Book Department and Lucile had hurried away. Soon after came the strange experience of meeting her double and Florence had quite forgotten all about it until this very minute.

"Have to provide my own surprise," she said to herself, while thinking it through. "But how am I to surprise myself?"

This had taken a great deal of thinking, but in the end she hit upon the very thing. Her old travelling bag had gone completely to pieces on her last trip. Her father had sent her fifteen dollars for the purchase of a new one. She had the money still. She would buy a travelling bag with a surprise in it.

Only a few days before, a friend had told her how this might be done.

Every great hotel has in its store room a great deal of baggage which no one claims; such as hat boxes, trunks, bags and bundles. Someone leaves his baggage as security for a bill. He does not return. Someone leaves his trunk in storage. He too disappears. Someone dies. In time all this baggage is sold at an auctioneer's place to the highest bidders. They have all been sealed when placed in the store room, and here they are, trunks, bundles and bags, all to be sold with "contents if any."

"With contents if any." Florence had read that sentence over many times as she finished scanning the notice of an auction that was to be held that very afternoon and night.

"With contents if any," that was where her surprise was to come in. She would pick out a good bag that had a woman's name on it, or one that at least looked as if a woman had owned it, and she would bid it in. Then the bag would be hers, and the "contents if any." She thrilled at the thought. Her friend had told of diamond rings, of gold watches, of a string of pearls, of silks and satins and silver jewel boxes that had come from these mysterious sealed bags and trunks.

"Of course," Florence a.s.sured herself, "there won't be anything like that in my bag, but anyway there'll be a surprise. What fun it will be, on my birthday, to turn the key to the bag and to peep inside.

"I know the afternoon is going to drag terribly. I do wish I could go now," she sighed, "but I can't. I do hope they don't sell all the nice bags before I get there."

With this she rose from the table, paid her check and went back to her elevator, still wondering about her mysterious double and still dreaming of her birthday surprise.

CHAPTER X CORDIE'S STRANGE RIDE

Twice a day, after Cordie had discovered him, the police horse, d.i.c.k, had a lump of sugar--one in the morning and another at noon. And Mounted Officer Patrick O'Hara, very young, quite handsome and somewhat das.h.i.+ng, received a smile with each lump of sugar. It would have been hard to tell which enjoyed his portion the most, d.i.c.k or Patrick O'Hara.

Apparently nothing could have pleased Cordie more than this discovery of an old friend. Yes, there was one other thing that would have pleased her much more. She found herself longing for it more and more. Every time she saw the horse she secretly yearned for this privilege.

And then, quite surprisingly, the opportunity came. It was noon. Having come out from the store to give d.i.c.k his daily portion, she was surprised to find him standing alone, head down, and patiently waiting. A glance down the street told her there had been an auto collision in the middle of the block; not a serious one probably, as the cars did not seem badly smashed, but of course Patrick O'Hara had gone over there to take down the numbers. Since traffic had been jammed, he had dismounted and walked.

"Wha--what a chance," Cordie breathed, her heart skipping a beat. "Do I dare?"

She looked up at the splendid saddle with its broad circle of bra.s.s and other trappings. She studied d.i.c.k's smooth, sleek sides.

"I know I shouldn't," she whispered, "but I do so want to. d.i.c.k, do you suppose he'd care?"

The temptation was growing stronger. Glancing down the street, she caught a glimpse of Patrick O'Hara's cap above the crowd. His back was turned.

The temptation was no longer to be resisted. With a touch and a spring, light as air, Cordie leaped into the saddle.

"Just for old times," she whispered.

She had meant to hover there for an instant, then to leap right down again. But alas for the best laid plans. Old d.i.c.k had apparently remembered things about the past which she had quite forgotten, and with a wild snort his head went up, his four feet came together, and with a leap that completely cleared him from the autos that blocked his way, he went tearing down the street.

For a second the girl's head was in a whirl. So unexpected was this mad dash that she was all but thrown from the saddle. Apparently an experienced rider, she regained her balance, clung to the pommel of the saddle for an instant, then gripping the reins, she screamed: