“Aunt!” yelled Harris. “She’s got no aunt! She’s from the jungle!”
For a moment they all stood silent, big-eyed and gaping.
“Look here, Mr. Officer,” said Reed, interposing. “My name’s Reed. The girl came up from South America with me. Describe the woman––”
“Reed!” cried the policeman excitedly, his eyes lighting. “That’s it! Said she was your aunt!”
“Lord Harry! You great, blundering boob!” cried the distracted Harris, menacing the confused officer. “And you let her nab the kid?”
Night had fallen, and a curious crowd was gathering around the excited, noisy group. Reed quickly signaled a taxicab and hustled the bewildered officer into it. “You, Harris, get the women folks home, and wait for me! I’ll go to central with this officer and report the case!”
“Not I!” exclaimed Harris wildly. “I’m going to visit every dance hall and dive in this bloomin’ town before I go home! I’m going to find that girl! And you, you blithering idiot,” shaking a fist at the officer, “you’re going to lose your star for this!”
Meantime, the car, in which Carmen lay deep in the soft cushions, sped through the dusk like a fell spirit. A confused jumble of shadows flew past, and strange, unfamiliar noises rose from the animated streets. The lights shimmered on the moist glass. It was confusing. The girl ceased trying to read any meaning in it. It all fused into a blur; and she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the novel sensations stimulated by her first ride in a carriage propelled––she knew not how.
At length came a creaking, a soft, skidding motion, and the big car rolled up against a curb and stopped.
“We are home now,” said the woman softly, as she descended and again took Carmen’s hand. They hurriedly mounted the white stone steps of a tall, gloomy building and entered a door that seemed to open noiselessly at their approach. A glare of light burst upon the blinking eyes of the girl. A negro woman softly closed the door after them. With a wondering glance, Carmen looked about her. In the room at her right she caught a glimpse of women––beautiful, they seemed to her––clad in loose, low-cut, gaily colored gowns. There were men there, too; and some one sat at a piano playing sprightly music. She had seen pianos like that in Cartagena, and on the boat, and they had seemed to her things bewitched. In the room at the end of the hall men and women were dancing on a floor that seemed of polished glass. Loud talk, laughter, and singing floated through the rooms, and the air was 8 warm and stuffy, heavy with perfume. The odor reminded her of the roses in her own little garden in Simití. It was all beautiful, wonderful, fairy-like.