Adrift in New York: Tom and Florence Braving the World

Jane nodded her head with emphasis, as if to intimate the kind of reception Curtis Waring would get if he attempted to trifle with her virgin affections.

“I hope what you suspect is not true,” said Florence, gravely. “I do not like or respect Curtis, but I don’t like to think he would be so base as that. If you ever see this young woman again, try to find out where she lives. I would like to make her acquaintance, and be a friend to her if she needs one.”

“Shure, Miss Florence, you will be needin’ a friend yourself.”

“It is true, Jane. I forgot that I am no longer a young lady of fortune, but a penniless girl, obliged to work for a living.”

“What would your uncle say if he knew that Mr. Curtis had a wife?”

“We don’t know that he has one, and till we do, it would not be honorable to intimate such a thing to Uncle John.”

“Shure, he wouldn’t be particular. It’s all his fault that you’re obliged to leave home, and go into the streets. Why couldn’t he take no for an answer, and marry somebody else, if he can find anybody to have him?”

“I wish, indeed, that he had fixed his affections elsewhere,” responded Florence, with a sigh.

“Shure, he’s twice as old as you, Miss Florence, anyway.”

“I shouldn’t mind that so much, if that was the only objection.”

“It’ll be a great deal better marryin’ a young man.”

“I don’t care to marry any one, Jane. I don’t think I shall ever marry.”

“It’s all very well to say that, Miss Florence. Lots of girls say so, but they change their minds. I don’t mean to live out always myself.”

“Is there any young man you are interested in, Jane?”

“Maybe there is, and maybe there isn’t, Miss Florence. If I ever do get married I’ll invite you to the wedding.”

“And I’ll promise to come if I can. But I hear the bell. I think my friend Dodger has come.”

“Shall I ask him in, miss?”

“No. Tell him I will be ready to accompany him at once.”

She went out into the hall, and when the door was opened the visitor proved to be Dodger. He had improved his appearance so far as his limited means would allow. His hands and face were thoroughly clean; he had bought a new collar and necktie; his shoes were polished, and despite his shabby suit, he looked quite respectable. Getting a full view of him, Florence saw that his face was frank and handsome, his eyes bright, and his teeth like pearls.

“Shure, he’s a great deal better lookin’ than Mr. Curtis,” whispered Jane. “Here, Mr. Dodger, take Miss Florence’s valise, and mind you take good care of her.”

“I will,” answered Dodger, heartily. “Come, Miss Florence, if you don’t mind walking over to Fourth Avenue, we’ll take the horse cars.”

So, under strange guidance, Florence Linden left her luxurious home, knowing not what awaited her. What haven of refuge she might find she knew not. She, like Dodger, was adrift in New York.

CHAPTER VIII.

A FRIENDLY COMPACT

Florence, as she stepped on the sidewalk, turned, and fixed a last sad look on the house that had been her home for so many years. She had never anticipated such a sundering of home ties, and even now she found it difficult to realize that the moment had come when her life was to be rent in twain, and the sunlight of prosperity was to be darkened and obscured by a gloomy and uncertain future.

She had hastily packed a few indispensable articles in a valise which she carried in her hand.

“Let me take your bag, Miss Florence,” said Dodger, reaching out his hand.

“I don’t want to trouble you, Dodger.”

“It ain’t no trouble, Miss Florence. I’m stronger than you, and it looks better for me to carry it.”

“You are very kind, Dodger. What would I do without you?”

“There’s plenty that would be glad of the chance of helping you,” said Dodger, with a glance of admiration at the fair face of his companion.

“I don’t know where to find them,” said Florence, sadly. “Even my uncle has turned against me.”

“He’s an old chump!” ejaculated Dodger, in a tone of disgust.

“Hush! I cannot hear a word against him. He has always been kind and considerate till now. It is the evil influence of my Cousin Curtis that has turned him against me. When he comes to himself I am sure he will regret his cruelty.”

“He would take you back if you would marry your cousin.”

“Yes; but that I will never do!” exclaimed Florence, with energy.

“Bully for you!” said Dodger. “Excuse me,” he said, apologetically. “I ain’t used to talkin’ to young ladies, and perhaps that ain’t proper for me to say.”

“I don’t mind, Dodger; your heart is in the right place.”

“Thank you, Miss Florence. I’m glad you’ve got confidence in me. I’ll try to deserve it.”

“Where are we going?” asked the young lady, whose only thought up to this moment had been to get away from the presence of Curtis and his persecutions.

They had now reached Fourth Avenue, and a surface car was close at hand.

“We’re going to get aboard that car,” said Dodger, signaling with his free hand. “I’ll tell you more when we’re inside.”

Florence entered the car, and Dodger, following, took a seat at her side.

They presented a noticeable contrast, for Florence was dressed as beseemed her station, while Dodger, in spite of his manly, attractive face, was roughly attired, and looked like a working boy.

When the conductor came along, he drew out a dime, and tendered it in payment of the double fare. The money was in the conductor’s hand before Florence was fully aware.

“You must not pay for me, Dodger,” she said.

“Why not?” asked the boy. “Ain’t we friends?”

“Yes, but you have no money to spare. Here, let me return the money.”

And she offered him a dime from her own purse.

“You can pay next time, Miss Florence. It’s all right. Now, I’ll tell you where we are goin’. A friend of mine, Mrs. O’Keefe, has a lodgin’ house, just off the Bowery. I saw her last night, and she says she’s got a good room that she can give you for two dollars a week—I don’t know how much you’d be willing to pay, but–”