Cast Adrift

FOR an hour Mrs. Bray waited the reappearance of Pinky Swett, but the girl did not come back. At the end of this time a package which had been left at the door was brought to her room. It came from Mrs. Dinneford, and contained two hundred dollars. A note that accompanied the package read as follows:

“Forgive my little fault of temper. It is your interest to be my friend. The woman must not, on any account, be suffered to come near me.”

Of course there was no signature. Mrs. Bray’s countenance was radiant as she fingered the money.

“Good luck for me, but bad for the baby,” she said, in a low, pleased murmur, talking to herself. “Poor baby! I must see better to its comfort. It deserves to be looked after. I wonder why Pinky doesn’t come?”

Mrs. Bray listened, but no sound of feet from the stairs or entries, no opening or shutting of doors, broke the silence that reigned through the house.

“Pinky’s getting too low down—drinks too much; can’t count on her any more.” Mrs. Bray went on talking to herself. “No rest; no quiet; never satisfied; for ever knocking round, and for ever getting the worst of it. She was a real nice girl once, and I always liked her. But she doesn’t take any care of herself.”

As Pinky went out, an hour before, she met a fresh-looking girl, not over seventeen, and evidently from the country. She was standing on the pavement, not far from the house in which Mrs. Bray lived, and had a traveling-bag in her hand. Her perplexed face and uncertain manner attracted Pinky’s attention.

“Are you looking for anybody?” she asked.

“I’m trying to find a Mrs. Bray,” the girl answered. “I’m a stranger from the country.”

“Oh, you are?” said Pinky, drawing her veil more tightly so that her disfigured face could not be seen.

“Yes I’m from L–.”

“Indeed? I used to know some people there.”

“Then you’ve been in L–?” said the girl, with a pleased, trustful manner, as of one who had met a friend at the right time.

“Yes, I’ve visited there.”

“Indeed? Who did you know in L–?”

“Are you acquainted with the Cartwrights?”

“I know of them. They are among our first people,” returned the girl.

“I spent a week in their family a few years ago, and had a very pleasant time,” said Pinky.

“Oh, I’m glad to know that,” remarked the girl. “I’m a stranger here; and if I can’t find Mrs. Bray, I don’t see what I am to do. A lady from here who was staying at the hotel gave me at letter to Mrs. Bray. I was living at the hotel, but I didn’t like it; it was too public. I told the lady that I wanted to learn a trade or get into a store, and she said the city was just the place for me, and that she would give me a letter to a particular friend, who would, on her recommendation, interest he self for me. It’s somewhere along here that she lived, I’m sure;” and she took a letter from her pocket and examined the direction.

The girl was fresh and young and pretty, and had an artless, confiding manner. It was plain she knew little of the world, and nothing of its evils and dangers.

“Let me see;” and Pinky reached out her hand for the letter. She put it under her veil, and read,

“MRS. FANNY BRAY, “No. 631–street, “–

“By the hand of Miss Flora Bond.”

“Flora Bond,” said Pinky, in a kind, familiar tone.

“Yes, that is my name,” replied the girl; “isn’t this–street?”

“Yes; and there, is the number you are looking for.”

“Oh, thank you! I’m so glad to find the place. I was beginning to feel scared.”

“I will ring the bell for you,” said Pinky, going to the door of No. 631. A servant answered the summons.

“Is Mrs. Bray at home?” inquired Pinky.

“I don’t know,” replied the servant, looking annoyed. “Her rooms are in the third story;” and she held the door wide open for them to enter. As they passed into the hall Pinky said to her companion,

“Just wait here a moment, and I will run up stairs and see if she is in.”

The girl stood in the hall until Pinky came back.

“Not at home, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh dear! that’s bad; what shall I do?” and the girl looked distressed.

“She’ll be back soon, no doubt,” said Pinky, in a light, assuring voice. “I’ll go around with you a little and see things.”

The girl looked down at her traveling-bag.

“Oh, that’s nothing; I’ll help you to carry it;” and Pinky took it from her hand.

“Couldn’t we leave it here?” asked Flora.

“It might not be safe; servants are not always to be trusted, and Mrs. Bray’s rooms are locked; we can easily carry it between us. I’m strong—got good country blood in my veins. You see I’m from the country as well as you; right glad we met. Don’t know what you would have done.”

And she drew the girl out, talking familiarly, as they went.

“Haven’t had your dinner yet?”

“No; just arrived in the cars, and came right here.”

“You must have something to eat, then. I know a nice place; often get dinner there when I’m out.”

The girl did not feel wholly at ease. She had not yet been able to get sight of Pinky’s closely-veiled features, and there was something in her voice that made her feel uncomfortable.

“I don’t care for any dinner,” she said; “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am, then, so come. Do you like oysters?”

“Yes.”

“Cook them splendidly. Best place in the city. And you’d like to get into a store or learn a trade?”

“Yes.”

“What trade did you think of?”