He walked on slowly.
“I’ll meet a policeman pretty soon,” he thought, “and I’ll ask him to direct me.”
But the section of the city seemed to grow still worse as he advanced. Almost before he was aware of it, he found himself near the water front.
“Well, I’m clean off my trolley!” he muttered, turning back.
Pretty soon he came to a street where lights shone from windows here and there, and there were sounds of laughter and music issuing from some of the rather disreputable-looking buildings. Women flitted along the street, sometimes accompanied by men, sometimes alone. One of them, quite alone, stopped Merry, grasped him by the arm, peered into his face, and brokenly asked:
“Have you seen her?”
By the light that shone from a window, Frank saw that the woman was at least fifty years old and dressed in a fairly respectable manner. She seemed greatly excited, and she was trembling.
“Whom do you mean, madam?” asked Frank, respectfully.
“My child—my little girl!” answered the woman. “She is here somewhere in this city! I don’t know where! I can’t find her! Oh Heaven! I can’t find her!”
“You have lost your daughter?” questioned Frank, with a thrill of sympathy.