"I don't know who these people are," the young woman said, faintly, to the man. "I think they must be burglars."

"Burglars, nothin'!" said Gladys, who had suddenly a.s.sumed the leadership of the party. Opposition and suspicion stimulated her. She loved a fight. "Be you her ma-in-law's cousin, and have you got her little sister?"

Wollaston looked inquiringly at Maria, who was very pale.

"It isn't Her cousin," she gasped. "I don't know who she is. I never saw her."

Then Wollaston spoke, hat in hand, and speaking up like a man.

"Pardon us, sir," he said, "we did not intend to intrude, but--"

"Get out of this," said the man, with a sudden dart towards the door.

His wife screamed again, and put her hand over a little diamond brooch at her throat. "I just know they are sneak-thieves," she gasped. "Do send them away, Tom!"

Wollaston tried to speak again. "We merely wished to ascertain," said he, "if a lady by the name of Mrs. George A.--"

"B." interrupted Gladys.

"B. Edison lived here. This young lady's little sister is lost, and Mrs. Edison is a relative, and we thought--"

The man made another dart. "Don't care what you thought," he shouted.

"Keep your thoughts to yourself! Get out of here!"

"Do you know where Mrs. George B. Edison lives now?" asked Wollaston, courteously, but his black eyes flashed at the man.

"No, I don't."

"No, we don't," said the young woman in pink. "Do make them go, Tom."

"We are perfectly willing to go," said Wollaston. "We have no desire to remain any longer where people are not willing to answer civil questions."

Maria all this time had said nothing. She was perfectly overcome with the conviction that Ida's cousin was not there, and consequently not Evelyn. Moreover, she was frightened at the little man's fierce manner. She clung to Wollaston's arm as they retreated, but Gladys turned around and deliberately stuck her tongue out at the man and the young woman in rose. The man slammed the door.

The three met on the stoop of the house two people in gay attire.

"Go up and see your friends that don't know how to treat folks decent," said Gladys. The woman looked wonderingly at her from under the shade of a picture hat. Her escort opened the door. "Ten chances to one they had the kid hid somewhere," said Gladys, so loudly that both turned and looked at her.

"Hush up," said Wollaston.

"Well, what be you goin' to do now?" asked Gladys.

"I am going to a drug-store, and see if I can find out where Maria's relatives have moved to," replied Wollaston. He walked quite alertly now. Maria's discomfiture had rea.s.sured him.

They walked along a few blocks until they saw the lights of a drug-store on the corner. Then Wollaston led them in and marched up to the directory chained to the counter.

"What's that?" Gladys asked. "A Bible?"

"No, it's a directory," Maria replied, in a dull voice.

"What do they keep it chained for? Books don't run away."

"I suppose they are afraid folks will steal it."

"My!" said Gladys, eying the big volume. "I don't see what on earth they'd do with it when they got it stole," she remarked, in a low, reflective voice.

Maria leaned against the counter and waited.

Finally, Wollaston turned to her with an apologetic air. "I can't find any George B. here," he said. "You are sure it was B?"

"Yes," replied Maria.

"Well, there's no use," said Wollaston. "There is no George B. Edison in this book, anyhow."

He came forward, and stood looking at Maria. Maria gazed absently at the crowds pa.s.sing on the street. Gladys watched them both.

"Well," said Gladys, presently, "you ain't goin' to stand here all night, be you? What be you goin' to do next? Go to the police-station?"

"I don't see that there is any use," replied Wollaston. "Maria's father must have been there by this time. This is a wild-goose chase anyhow." Wollaston's tone was quite vicious. He scowled superciliously at the salesman who stepped forward and asked if he wanted anything. "No, we don't, thank you," he said.

"What be you goin' to do?" asked Gladys, again. She looked at the soda-fountain.

"I don't see anything to do but to go home," said Wollaston. "There is no sense in our chasing around New York any longer, that I can see."

"You can't go home to-night, anyhow," Gladys said, quite calmly.

"They've took off that last train, and there ain't more'n ten minutes to git down to the station."

Wollaston turned pale, and looked at her with horror. "What makes you think they've taken off that last train?" he demanded.

"Ain't my pa brakeman when he's sober, and he's been real sober for quite a spell now."

Wollaston seized Maria by the arm. "Come, quick!" he said, and leaving the drug-store he broke into a run for the Elevated, with Gladys following.

"There ain't no use in your runnin'," said she. "You know yourself you can't git down to Cortlandt Street, and walk to the ferry in ten minutes. I never went but oncet, but I know it can't be did."

Wollaston slackened his pace. "That is so," he said. Then he looked at Maria in a kind of angry despair. He felt, in spite of his romantic predilection for her, that he wished she were a boy, so he could say something forcible. He realized his utter helplessness with these two girls in a city where he knew no one, and he again thought of the three dollars in his pocket-book. He did not suppose that Maria had more than fifty cents in hers. Then, too, he was worldly wise enough to realize the difficulty of the situation, the possible danger even. It was ten o'clock at night, and here he was with two young girls to look out for.

Then Gladys, who had also worldly wisdom, although of a crude and vulgar sort, spoke. "Folks are goin' to talk like the old Harry if we stay in here all night," said she, "and besides, there's no knowin'

what is a safe place to go into."

"That is so," said Wollaston, gloomily, "and I--have not much money with me."

"I've got money enough," Maria said, suddenly. "There are ten dollars in my pocket-book I gave you to keep."

"My!" said Gladys.

Wollaston brightened for a moment, then his face clouded again.

"Well, I don't know as that makes it much better," said he. "I don't quite see how to manage. They are so particular in hotels now, that I don't know as I can get you into a decent one. As for myself, I don't care. I can look out for myself, but I don't know what to do with you, Maria."

Gladys made a little run and stepped in front of them. "There ain't but one thing you can do, so Maria won't git talked about all the rest of her life, and I kin tell you what it is," said she.