CHAPTER XXVII.
THE POISONED CANDY.
But Faith had only read a part of the letter when she made her statement, for, on a closer perusal, she found she was mistaken. If the writer had ever dreamed of tempting her with the lure of proffered luxury he admitted his change of opinion in terms of honest candor.
"Dear Child," the letter read, "since our meeting the other evening I have been thinking constantly how I best could win your esteem and affection. That I should desire the friendship of a pure, young girl would sound strange to the ears of many worldly people, but to you, who are as distant from worldliness as are the angels in heaven, the suggestion can bring only bewildering sensations. To say that I am ashamed does not half express my feelings. To say that I wish to make immediate amends does not convey to you the half of my eagerness in that direction.
"Will you allow me to call upon you at your home? This is the request of a man who was once a gentleman, but who, through the bitterness of disappointment, had lost faith in all things holy."
The letter was signed "Cornelius C. Deering."
Faith read it over and over—the signature was in a measure familiar, but just at that time she could not place it.
As she tucked the letter in her pocket, Mr. Gunning approached the counter. He was twirling his mustache with his coarse, blunt fingers, and there was a superciliousness in his manner that was almost disgusting.
"Perhaps you are not aware, Number 411, that we don't allow that sort of thing here," he said in a loud tone. "If you must have such improper notes from men, please see that they are not delivered during business hours. I can't have you wasting time in reading letters!"
For a moment the floor seemed sinking beneath Faith's feet, but it was not altogether from the effect of his words—it was the shock of finding out that Miss Jones was treacherous.
For a moment it seemed incomprehensible that she should have repeated her remark, but how else could the floor-walker have guessed that her letter was either from a "man" or "improper"?
She almost bit her tongue in her effort to keep silent, and at first she was even tempted to show the fellow the letter.
"It was not my fault that the letter came to me here," she said finally. "Believe me, Mr. Gunning, it would not have happened if I could have prevented it."
"Oh, of course, you can't help men writing love letters to you," said the fellow, impudently; "but if I see any more of them I shall report it to Mr. Gibson! Our rules are very strict. There is to be no flirting in the building!"
Faith would have liked to ask him why he did not stop James Denton from flirting in the store, and why the detectives were not punished for their villainous efforts in behalf of outsiders, as well as a dozen more questions, some of which would have included his own department, but she was far too wise to risk such a venture.
When Mr. Gunning walked away, Miss Jones came up to her. There was a sneer on her face while her eyes twinkled with amusement.
"How could you be so mean as to tell him?" Faith asked, breathlessly. "You saw how distressed I was; why could you not respect my feelings?"
"Oh, I guess you didn't feel so bad as you try to make out," said Miss Jones, snappishly. "Girls that make friends with men who keep nigger servants ain't always as green as they look, you know! Sometimes they are worse than those who ain't so smooth or so clever!"
"You are as insulting as he was," said Faith, very gravely. "I am disappointed in you, Miss Jones. I though you were more friendly."
"Well, who cares what you thought?" was the heartless answer. "I'm not to blame if you took me for a fool! Why, even Mag Brady could see through your sly actions!"
Faith looked at her in astonishment, her veins throbbing with indignation.
"She understood your little game that day of the fire, when you and Jim Denton were talking together! He's rich, Jim Denton is, and he's mighty susceptible! You ain't such an innocent but what you found that out, and now he is meeting you on street corners and sending you candy!"
Faith had heard all she could bear, so she turned and walked slowly away. She was so confused that for an hour or more she could hardly make out her checks properly.
The new packer was a girl about two years her junior, and as Faith handed up her goods she could not help thinking of Miss Jennings.
Poor Mary, with all her bitterness, had been a true, loyal friend. She would have scorned to do a treacherous or dishonest action herself, yet she absolutely refused to condemn such conduct in others.
Faith remembered her plea for the thief, Lou Willis, and that led her finally on a new train of thought, so that she was able to almost forget her late conversation.
Several times during the day there were changes made in the department, and Miss Fairbanks was kept busy altering the prices on goods, especially on what were known as the "bargain counters."
These counters were principally small tables standing here and there in the aisles, and during the rush hours they were always surrounded by customers.
Finally, to the surprise of the entire department, the tables, themselves, were removed, Mr. Denton coming down from his office to superintend the transaction.
"The fire company has warned him again, I guess," whispered Miss Fairbanks to Faith. "Well, that's a hard one on Mag Brady; she was hired expressly for those bargains."
"He will surely make a place for her elsewhere, will he not?" asked Faith. "It would be dreadful if the poor girl should lose her work completely!"
"She deserves it," said Cash Number 83, who was standing near. "'Tain't as if she was stayin' away 'cause she was sick! She's just on a spree along with some girls and fellers!"
"What gets me is how Mr. Forbes is taking all these changes. He don't seem to be saying a word," continued Miss Fairbanks, without noticing the cash girl.
"Oh, he's just saying nothing and sawing wood," said Miss Jones, knowingly. "He's too foxy to quit the firm as old Pomposity did! Probably he thinks it won't last, and he's willing to wait till it's over."
"Well, it will be a great deal safer here now without the tables," said the buyer. "If we have a fire now there won't be so much crowding."
"They say he's doing this sort of thing all over the store," said Mr. Gunning, who had just returned from helping with the tables.
"Then they tell me, too, that he's having a lunch-room and restaurant for employees built on the sixth floor of the building. All the goods that were stored there are being taken to the basement."
"And we cash girls are all to be fired!" spoke up "Number 83," sadly, "except those who are healthy and over fourteen. The rest of us that ain't got any parents have got to go to Gerry's, or, if we have got parents, they've got to support us—that's what the boss says, but it sounds mighty like a 'pipe dream.'"
"It sounds like a sensible arrangement," said Faith, seriously, "for it's a shame that such children should have to work! Why, you ought to be in school this very minute!"
"Well, I'd rather be here," said "83" very shortly. "There ain't no fun in a school-room, and what's the good of studyin', anyhow?"
"But don't you wish to be able to cipher and to read books?" said Faith.
"What's the use?" was the answer; "they don't tell you nothin', at least not nothin' about how to earn your livin'!"
Faith gave up in despair. She was baffled at every turn. The only ray of sunshine that she could see was in Mr. Denton's rapidly developing improvements.
As she mounted the stairs to the sixth floor to eat her luncheon in the new quarters, she was surprised to find Sam Watkins waiting at the top of the last flight, apparently on the lookout for her.
"This is Miss Marvin, ain't it?" he asked when he saw her, at the same time drawing a package out from under his jacket. "I was told to give you this," he whispered, shyly. "Here, take it, quick, while there ain't no one lookin'! Them gals would turn green if they knowed you had a whole box of candy!"
Faith took the box and looked at it sharply. There was no card this time, but she felt sure it was from James Denton.
"You can have it, Sam," she said, without an instant's hesitation. "I really don't care for it; do take it, Sam. But, by the way, where did you get it?"
"Hush!"
The boy whispered the word with his fingers on his lips.
"There they come now, miss! Are you sure you don't want it?"
"Quite sure, Sam," was Faith's answer, as she hurried away. She did not wish the clerks to know that she had been the recipient of more presents.
Sam Watkins took the box directly to the men's lunch-room, which was on the same floor at the other end of the building.
Being a boy, he could not long resist the temptation of candy, but just as he opened the box with a grimace of delight, Ben Tyler came in carrying a wide-awake, little Skye terrier.
"I just found him in the store; some lady has lost him, I guess," said Tyler, as the others all looked at him. "I was going to send him to the 'Found desk,' but he wouldn't have it. He sticks to me as if I was his master."
"I'll get him away from you, I'll bet!" said Sam, holding out a piece of candy.
In a second the dog sprang out of Tyler's arms and swallowed the sweetmeat greedily.
"There, you can't have any more," said Sam, after he had fed him a couple more pieces. "I've got to treat the rest of the crowd, and there won't be enough to go around."
"Keep your candy, kid; we don't want it," said one of the men good-naturedly, but Sam was so interested in watching the lively little dog that, fortunately, he forgot to eat for a few minutes.
"Hello! What ails the dog?" exclaimed Tyler, suddenly. "How queer he acts! I believe the stuff has made him sick already!"
All eyes were turned on the poor little creature, and it was soon plain to be seen that he was suffering terribly.
"It ought not to hurt him," said one of the men.
"Not if it's all right," said Tyler, going over toward Sam. "Let me see your candy, my boy; I believe there's something wrong with it."
Sam dropped the chocolate that he was just conveying to his mouth, and handed the box to the detective with great alacrity.
"There's something in it, I'm sure," he said, after a careful scrutiny, "and I'm willing to bet the stuff is poisoned!"
A final moan from the poor little dog fully justified him in his decision.
"The dog is dead," said one of the clerks in a solemn voice. "So there isn't a shadow of doubt but what the candy is poisoned."