Cast Adrift

“None in particular.”

“How would you like to get into a book-bindery? I know two or three girls in binderies, and they can make from five to ten dollars a week. It’s the nicest, cleanest work I know of.”

“Oh, do you?” returned Flora, with newly-awakening interest.

“Yes; we’ll talk it all over while we’re eating dinner. This way.”

And Pinky turned the corner of a small street that led away from the more crowded thoroughfare along which they had been passing.

“It’s a quiet and retired place, where only the nicest kind of people go,” she added. “Many working-girls and girls in stores get their dinners there. We’ll meet some of them, no doubt; and if any that I know should happen in, we might hear of a good place. Just the thing, isn’t it? I’m right glad I met you.”

They had gone halfway down the square, when Pinky stopped before the shop of a confectioner. In the window was a display of cakes, pies and candies, and a sign with the words, “LADIES’ RESTAURANT.”

“This is the place,” she said, and opening the door, passed in, the young stranger following.

A sign of caution, unseen by Flora, was made to a girl who stood behind the counter. Then Pinky turned, saying,

“How will you have your oysters? stewed, fried, broiled or roasted?”

“I’m not particular—any way,” replied Flora.

“I like them fried. Will you have them the same way?”

Flora nodded assent.

“Let them be fried, then. Come, we’ll go up stairs. Anybody there?”

“Two or three only.”

“Any girls from the bindery?”

“Yes; I think so.”

“Oh. I’m glad of that! Want to see some of them. Come, Miss Bond.”

And Pinky, after a whispered word to the attendant, led the way to a room up stairs in which were a number of small tables. At one of these were two girls eating, at another a girl sitting by herself, and at another a young man and a girl. As Pinky and her companion entered, the inmates of the room stared at them familiarly, and then winked and leered at each other. Flora did not observe this, but she felt a sudden oppression and fear. They sat down at a table not far from one of the windows. Flora looked for the veil to be removed, so that she might see the face of her new friend. But Pinky kept it closely down.

In about ten minutes the oysters were served. Accompanying them were two glasses of some kind of liquor. Floating on one of these was a small bit of cork. Pinky took this and handed the other to her companion, saying,

“Only a weak sangaree. It will refresh you after your fatigue; and I always like something with oysters, it helps to make them lay lighter on the stomach.”

Meantime, one of the girls had crossed over and spoken to Pinky. After word or two, the latter said,

“Don’t you work in a bindery, Miss Peter?”

“Yes,” was answered, without hesitation.

“I thought so. Let me introduce you to my friend, Miss Flora Bond. She’s from the country, and wants to get into some good establishment. She talked about a store, but I think a bindery is better.”

“A great deal better,” was replied by Miss Peter. “I’ve tried them both, and wouldn’t go back to a store again on any account. If I can serve your friend, I shall be most happy.”

“Thank you!” returned Flora; “you are very kind.”

“Not at all; I’m always glad when I can be of service to any one. You think you’d like to go into a bindery?”

“Yes. I’ve come to the city to get employment, and haven’t much choice.”

“There’s no place like the city,” remarked the other. “I’d die in the country—nothing going on. But you won’t stagnate here. When did you arrive?”

“To-day.”

“Have you friends here?”

“No. I brought a letter of introduction to a lady who resides in the city.”

“What’s her name?”

“Mrs. Bray.”

Miss Peter turned her head so that Flora could not see her face. It was plain from its expression that she knew Mrs. Bray.

“Have you seen her yet?” she asked.

“No. She was out when I called. I’m going back in a little while.”

The girl sat down, and went on talking while the others were eating. Pinky had emptied her glass of sangaree before she was half through with her oysters, and kept urging Flora to drink.

“Don’t be afraid of it, dear,” she said, in a kind, persuasive way; “there’s hardly a thimbleful of wine in the whole glass. It will soothe your nerves, and make you feel ever so much better.”

There was something in the taste of the sangaree that Flora did not like—a flavor that was not of wine. But urged repeatedly by her companion, whose empty glass gave her encouragement and confidence, she sipped and drank until she had taken the whole of it. By this time she was beginning to have a sense of fullness and confusion in the head, and to feel oppressed and uncomfortable. Her appetite suddenly left her, and she laid down her knife and fork and leaned her head upon her hand.

“What’s the matter?” asked Pinky.

“Nothing,” answered the girl; “only my head feels a little strangely. It will pass off in a moment.”

“Riding in the cars, maybe,” said Pinky. “I always feel bad after being in the cars; it kind of stirs me up.”

Flora sat very quietly at the table, still resting her head upon her hands. Pinky and the girl who had joined them exchanged looks of intelligence. The former had drawn her veil partly aside, yet concealing as much as possible the bruises on her face.

“My! but you’re battered!” exclaimed Miss Peter, in a whisper that was unheard by Flora.

Pinky only answered by a grimace. Then she said to Flora, with well-affected concern,

“I’m afraid you are ill, dear? How do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” answered the poor girl, in a voice that betrayed great anxiety, if not alarm. “It came over me all at once. I’m afraid that wine was too strong; I am not used to taking anything.”

“Oh dear, no! it wasn’t that. I drank a glass, and don’t feel it any more than if it had been water.”