Dorothy Dale's Great Secret

CHAPTER XXII

IN DIRE DISTRESS

Dorothy had traveled in parlor cars before but had never ridden in a sleeper, which was the style of coach she now found herself in. The train was a through one from the west and, as the regular parlor cars were full Ned had to get a ticket in the sleeper which, by day, is much the same as a parlor car.

As the porter set her valise down and arranged a seat for her near the ladies’ retiring room Dorothy’s heart beat fast, and, though the surroundings were new and novel to her she took no interest in them. But as the train whistled off, and the other passengers began moving about, Dorothy lifted her head and glanced around.

For a moment she felt that some mistake had been made. Surely this was no train for ladies, for not a woman was in sight, instead the entire car seemed filled with men in various stages of incomplete toilets. Some were adjusting their neckties as they walked through the aisle, others were fastening shoe laces, and a few buckling their belts or slipping on their coats.

Then she noticed, for the first time, that the car was a sleeper, for the interior was so dark because of the train shed when she entered that she could not tell what it was. She saw the berths on both sides, with heavy curtains lining the aisle. Only one or two beds had been shut up and turned into seats like the one she was occupying.

Dorothy was annoyed. Was she to make her lonely trip in company with a car full of men? She had expected, when she planned her journey, that there would be other girls and ladies in the coach in which she was to travel, and that she might appeal to them in case of need. But a whole car full of men!

She looked about for the little electric call button, and, finding it in the casement at the side of the window, pressed it vigorously. It was some time before the porter responded as, all along his route, the omnipresent men claimed his attention for various services. But finally he reached the end of the car where the girl in the blue sailor suit sat up very prim and stiff, waiting for him.

“Is this – er – a ladies’ car?” she asked timidly.

“A ladies’ car? Oh, yes, miss. This is all right. This is the car for Rochester.”

“But I – never was in a car like – like this before,” Dorothy objected, glancing about at the men who were still struggling in the aisles with various refractory articles of clothing.

For a moment the porter seemed puzzled. Then, all at once, he understood Dorothy’s objection.

“Oh, them’s only the gentlemen gettin’ ready to leave, miss. They’ll all be out soon, and you’ll have more room. Anything I can do for you, miss?”

“No,” and Dorothy just checked herself from adding “thank you,” which she felt would not be quite proper, and would show that she was unused to the attention of a porter. Then the colored attendant made his way down the aisle, while the only girl in the car held her face close against the window pane and fell to thinking of the task that lay before her.

She was not now troubled about the car and the occupants. If it was all right, and she would be brought safely to Rochester in it, that was all she had to consider. Of course it would have been less lonely to have had the usual day coach passengers with her, but she thought Ned must have selected this car and she felt he knew best. Then, too, the porter had said the men were rapidly leaving their berths and as soon as they did so the colored man made the folding beds into broad velvet seats, similar to the one occupied by Dorothy.

When these seats had replaced the hanging curtains, and the comfortable places were occupied by the men who had been so lately sleeping, even though there were no women among them, Dorothy recovered from her first shock of embarrassment. The passengers all appeared to be gentlemen and not one of them seemed to even glance in her direction, though they must have realized how strange it was for a pretty girl to be the lone female passenger.

When the spasm of brushing clothes into which the porter threw himself, was finally over, which operation Dorothy could not help watching for it was done with such dispatch, and when the men had gone to the dining car for breakfast or become engrossed in their newspapers, she tried to map out her day’s programme.

“I will get off at Rochester,” she told herself, “and then I’ll inquire for the Criterion Theatre.” She looked at the slip of paper which she carried so carefully in the little brown leather wrist bag. “Then,” she went on, “if the company has left Rochester I will go to Rockdale. But if it should get dark!” she cried in a low wail of terror. “If it should get dark and I should be all alone in a strange city!”

Then came the thought of the folks at home and how they would worry if night came on and she did not reach them. Was ever a girl so situated?

All sorts of dangers flashed before her mind, and now, though too late, she realized sharply how unfit a young girl is to cope with a big, strange world, how little the world cares for a girl’s tender feelings, and how cold and heartless it is when she tries to make her way through the city streets alone, yet crowded on every side by a throng of other human beings.

“But Tavia had to go through it,” concluded Dorothy, “and I must not be less brave than was she.”

The train was somewhat delayed on the run from Buffalo to Rochester, so it was almost noon when Dorothy reached the latter city.

On a slip of paper she had the directions of the theatre she wished to visit, and at the ticket station learned where the building was located. Then off she started, with never a look at the shop windows filled with wonderful displays of all kinds. She soon found the amusement resort, and stepping into the lobby, approached the ticket window and asked timidly:

“Can you tell me where the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company is playing to-night?”

The man looked at her sharply. Then he smiled so ironically that Dorothy’s heart gave a painful thump, and a great lump came into her throat.

“‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company,” he repeated, with the most prolonged and distracting drawl. “I guess there isn’t any. It’s down and out. Didn’t play to a house here last night big enough to pay the gas bills.”

“But the members of the company?” asked Dorothy with a choke in her voice.

“Hum! How should I know?” he asked with a sneer. “In jail, maybe, for not paying their board bills.”

For a moment Dorothy felt that she must cry out and tell him that the matter was very vital to her – that she must find a young and friendless girl who was a member of the company; but she realized what sort of a man he was and her better judgment asserted itself.

“But are there any members of the company in this city?” she persisted bravely, trying to keep up her courage, so as to get a clue as to the whereabouts of Tavia.

“In this city?” he repeated with the same distracting drawl. “Well, no. They managed to get out of here before the sheriff could attach their baggage and the scenery, which he was ready to do. They certainly were as poor a company as we ever had in this theatre. It was awful. Oh, no, they didn’t dare stay here.”

“Then where did they go?”

“Rockdale was their next booked place, but maybe they didn’t dare go there, for fear some word had been sent on ahead,” the ticket seller sneered.

“How can I get to Rockdale?” asked the girl, trying to keep back her tears.

“Get there on a train, of course,” and the man turned back to the paper he had been reading when Dorothy came in. Perhaps he was angry because she had not purchased a ticket to the current attraction.

“If you would be – be kind enough to direct me,” pleaded Dorothy. “I am a stranger here, and I must find a – a young girl who is with that company.”

Something in her voice and manner seemed to touch the rather indifferent man, for he straightened up in his tall chair and looked squarely and more kindly at Dorothy.

“Oh, that’s it, is it? I didn’t know. I have a lot of silly girls always asking about traveling companies after they’ve left here, and I thought you might be one of them. Now you’re talking. Yes, of course, certainly. If you’ve got to find anybody connected with that company you’d better be quick about it, for I should think there wouldn’t be much left of ’em by this time. I heard they had quite a time of it getting their trunks away from here. Held up for board, you know. But of course they’re used to that sort of thing.”

Dorothy took hold of the brass rail in front of her as she turned away from the window. She felt as if she could hardly stand any more of the man’s veiled insinuations. But it might not be true – surely it could not be true – it was only his cruel, teasing way. Tavia could not be in such distress.

“How can I get there?” Dorothy repeated.

“If you want to get to Rockdale,” the ticket seller answered after a pause, “you can take the train at twelve forty-five.”

“Thank you,” murmured Dorothy, turning dizzily toward the street to make her way to the station she had so recently left. How she managed to reach the place she never knew. The great buildings along the way seemed about to topple over on her head. Her temples were throbbing and her eyes shot out streaks of flashing light. Her knees trembled under her. If only she had time to get something to eat! But she must not miss that train. It might be the last one that day.

Through the crowd of waiting persons she made her way to the ticket office and purchased the slip of cardboard that entitled her to a ride. She learned that the train was late and that she would have to wait ten minutes. Grateful for that respite Dorothy turned to the little lunch counter to get a sandwich, and some coffee. But, before she had reached the end of the big depot where refreshments were sold, she suddenly stopped – some one had grabbed her skirt.

Turning quickly Dorothy beheld a crouching, cringing figure, almost crawling so as to hide herself in the crowd.

“Girl!” cried Dorothy, trying to shake off the grasp on her skirt. “Let me go! What do you want?”

“Don’t you know me?” whispered the miserable creature. “Look again – don’t you know – Urania, the Gypsy girl?”

Then beneath the rags and the appearance of age that seemed, in so short a time to have hidden the identity of this young girl, Dorothy did recognize Urania. How wretched – how forlorn she was; and even in danger of arrest if she was seen begging in the depot.

“Don’t turn away from me, Miss!” pleaded the unfortunate Gypsy girl. “Please help me!”

She stretched out to Dorothy a dirty, trembling hand. The gate to the Rockdale train had been thrown open, and Dorothy felt that the time was almost up.

“You should go home,” she said, dropping a coin into the outstretched palm.