The Girl from Sunset Ranch: or, Alone in a Great City

The man slowed down and spoke to her through the tube.

“I hope you don’t bear no ill-will, Miss,” he said, humbly enough. “You said Madison – ”

“All right. See if you can take me to the right place now,” returned Helen, brusquely.

Her talk with Sadie Goronsky had given her more confidence. She was awake to the wiles of the city now. Dud Stone had been right. Even Big Hen Billings’s warnings were well placed. A stranger like herself had to be on the lookout all the time.

After a time the taxicab turned up a wider thoroughfare that had no elevated trains roaring overhead. At Twenty-third Street it turned west and then north again at Madison Square.

There was a little haze in the air – an October haze. Through this the lamps twinkled blithely. There were people on the dusky benches, and many on the walks strolling to and fro, although it was now growing quite late.

In the park she caught a glimpse of water in a fountain, splashing high, then low, with a rainbow in it. Altogether it was a beautiful sight.

The hum of night traffic – the murmur of voices – they flashed past a theatre just sending forth its audience – and all the subdued sights and sounds of the city delighted her again.

Suddenly the taxicab stopped.

“This is the number, Miss,” said the driver.

Helen looked out first. Not much like the same number on Madison Street!

This block was a slice of old-fashioned New York. On either side was a row of handsome, plain old houses, a few with lanterns at their steps, and some with windows on several floors brilliantly lighted.

There were carriages and automobiles waiting at these doors. Evening parties were evidently in progress.

The house before which the taxicab had stopped showed no light in front, however, except at the door and in one or two of the basement windows.

“Is this the place you want?” asked the driver, with some impatience.

“I’ll see,” said Helen, and hopped out of the cab.

She ran boldly up the steps and rang the bell. In a minute the inner door swung open; but the outer grating remained locked. A man in livery stood in the opening.

“What did you wish, ma’am?” he asked in a perfectly placid voice.

“Does Mr. Willets Starkweather reside here?” asked Helen.

“Mr. Starkweather is not at home, ma’am.”

“Oh! then he could not have received my telegram!” gasped Helen.