"That's what she always said," exclaimed Grandma Johnson; "that the pleasant things come to the people who are looking for pleasant things but, land! see what's happened to her and if anyone ever looked for pleasantness it was Mary Rose. Why she even looked for it in us!" And she laughed harshly.

"And she found it, too," Mrs. Schuneman declared quickly. "Yes, she did. She looked deep enough to find the pleasantness we didn't know was there because we'd covered it up with so much disagreeableness.

I'm not ashamed to admit that she made me see that so long as you live in a world with other people you owe some obligation to be agreeable to them. If each of us did our share, as Mary Rose was always asking us to do, we'd find this world a friendlier place than it is."

"She must have said that to me a hundred times," sniffled Miss Adams.

"I knew she was right all the time but I wouldn't say so."

"It's easy to get out of the habit of being friendly in the city,"

murmured Mrs. Matchan. "It's different in the country."

"I guess it's much the same, city or country. If she hadn't found Germania for me I'd have been in an asylum by now," a.s.serted Mrs.

Schuneman. "There I was all by myself and while a bird isn't a human being, it's a lot of company. And it's through Germania and Mary Rose that I've got acquainted with all of you."

"If it hadn't been for Mary Rose I doubt if Mr. Bracken would have asked me to go for Harriet," Mrs. Bracken said in a low voice.

It seemed as if each of them had something to say of what Mary Rose had done for her. Mary Rose's friendly nature, her undaunted belief in the friendliness of people and of the world in which she lived had made those whose lives she had touched develop friendliness also. The dozen people gathered in the Donovan living-room said so, quite frankly.

Suddenly the clock struck eleven times. Mrs. Donovan burst into a perfect storm of tears. "She should have been in her bed hours ago!"

she sobbed. "An' where is she? Where's Mary Rose?"

"Sh--sh!" There was a step on the stairs. It seemed as if everyone stopped breathing to listen.

CHAPTER XXIII

Larry Donovan jumped to the door.

But it was Mr. Wells' grim face that appeared in the circle of light and his grimmer voice that asked harshly:

"What's the matter? What's all this disturbance through the building, Donovan? Every door is open and there's a general turmoil."

They faced him indignantly, fellow tenants and janitor. Each had had some experience with him that had been more unpleasant than pleasant.

All of them knew that he disliked Mary Rose, that he had complained to the agents because she lived in the bas.e.m.e.nt with the Donovans. Each of them resented the selfishness that had brought him down to make another complaint when all of them were so worried and anxious. It was Bob Strahan who put some of this feeling into words.

"No doubt you'll be glad to hear that Mary Rose, the little girl who has been such a nuisance to you, has disappeared?" he said sarcastically.

Mr. Wells looked at him from under his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows. "What do you mean?" he snapped. "What do you mean?"

Everyone tried to tell him at once but Mrs. Donovan who was sobbing in her ap.r.o.n and could not speak. Mr. Wells looked at her oddly.

"Nonsense!" he said when the story was clear to him. "She's locked herself in somewhere as she did once before." He had heard of the time the wind had slammed Mrs. Bracken's door and shut Mary Rose inside.

"She's fallen asleep."

"We've been in every flat but yours," Larry Donovan told him dully.

"Everyone but mine?" repeated Mr. Wells. "Well, she wouldn't go there." Then he remembered that Mary Rose had been there in a neighborly desire to be kind to him when he was ill, in a friendly wish to tell him of her belief in him when he was under suspicion, and he colored painfully. For all he knew she might be there now. She had a habit of going when and where she pleased. That was what made her such a nuisance in his eyes. "You can come and see for yourself," he said sharply. "So far as I know there's no one there. Sako is out and I've just come in."

They trooped eagerly after him up the stairs to the second floor, and he had an unpleasant feeling that they expected to find Mary Rose locked in his apartment, a prisoner by his orders. Hadn't Mary Rose herself told him that he was suspected of doing cruel things? Well, he didn't care what they thought, he muttered to himself as he put his key in the lock. But he did care. Cross and crusty as he was, he was human, and deep in the hearts of all human beings is the desire to have people think well of them.

It was the first time any of them but the Donovans had been in the apartment. Mr. Wells threw open doors to closets and pantries. He even scornfully opened drawers and cupboards.

"Make a thorough search while you're about it," he snarled.

Under the sink in the kitchen Bob Strahan caught a bright gleam. He stooped down and picked up a piece of heavy bra.s.s wire. It had been broken at both ends and was twisted and bent. Bob Strahan stared at it and whistled softly.

"What is it?" Miss Carter ran across to him. He drew her aside and showed her the bra.s.s 'wire. "Do you see that? It's the kind of wire that bird cages are made of."

"Oh!" Miss Carter stared at him. She couldn't believe it. She turned and stared at Mr. Wells as he stood so contemptuously and watched his neighbors. There was a sneer on his face. "I w-wouldn't have believed that anyone would be so despicable!"

"He's been a selfish brute, always finding fault with everyone and everything. You might almost think he was the darned old owner himself," muttered Bob Strahan.

"He wouldn't make himself so disagreeable if he was the owner." Miss Carter nodded a wise head. "He'd be too anxious to please his tenants.

No, it's just because he's so selfish and disagreeable and," she looked at the broken wire and thought of friendly Jenny Lind, "brutal!"

"You're quite sure the child is not here?" they heard Mr. Wells say in a voice that was as sarcastic as a voice could be, and there was a most unpleasant glare in the cold black eyes. "Quite convinced that I haven't hidden her away to fatten for my breakfast?"

"Mr. Wells! Mr. Wells!" began Mrs. Donovan indignantly but her spirit died and she cried instead--quite involuntarily you may be sure: "Oh, Mary Rose said there was sure to be good in you if we'd look for it."

It seemed to Miss Carter that a black screen was drawn over Mr. Wells'

face. He said not a word but walked to the door and threw it wide open. One by one his neighbors went out. No one said anything; there seemed to be nothing to say.

"Good night." Mr. Wells spoke with cold, almost ominous, curtesy and he would have shut the door in their faces if he had not caught the pitying look in a girl's eyes. A dull red crept into his face.

Involuntarily he stepped toward Elizabeth Thorley. "If you hear anything of the child let me know," he said as if the words were forced from him, and then he slammed the door behind him.

As they went down the stairs Miss Carter dropped behind the others. So did Bob Strahan. As he waited for her he saw her dab her eyes with her handkerchief and he put out his hand and touched her arm.

"Look here," he spoke sharply. "That won't do. Mary Rose is all right, you know." And he gave her a little shake.

"I'd like to see that for myself, that she is all right." She dabbed her eyes again with the damp little square of linen.

He put a hand on each shoulder and looked directly into her tear-wet eyes. "Listen to me. I shan't go to bed until I do know that she's all right. I couldn't sleep. Mary Rose has done too much for me.

When I think--Lord!--when she came here I was a friendless young cuss hanging on to a job by the skin of my teeth and now--You know I used to be crazy to know you when I met you in the hall and on the stairs and it was Mary Rose, bless her heart! and her canary who made it possible for us to be friends. I can't forget that and I'll find her."

She looked up and there was a light in her eyes that caused his hands to tighten on her shoulders.

"You know I love you, honey," he said quickly. "I think I've always loved you and ever since I got a real grip on my job I've wanted to tell you. If you could care half as much for me as I do for you I'd--I'd--" he stopped before he told her what he would do for she had lifted her face and he had seen there that she did care, as much as he did. He stooped and kissed her.

She kissed him also and clung to him for a moment before she pushed him away.

"We--we shouldn't be thinking of ourselves now," her voice trembled.

"We must think of Mary Rose."

CHAPTER XXIV