Leaving their candle still flickering on the floor they anxiously left the shanty; and it may be stated here, for the guidance of other careless ones that there was an item in the next morning’s paper stating that a certain “old rookery had been burned down during the night; origin of fire unknown; a benefit to the city for it had long been infested by hoboes and tramps.” To which of these classes poor Jack belonged it did not state; but either one was a far call to the “great artist” he had said he would become.
There were cabs in plenty to be seen and, probably, to be hired; but they did not summon one. A vision of Miss Tross-Kingdon’s face at its sternest rose before Dorothy and she dared not venture on the lady’s generosity. Another thought came, a far happier one:
“I’ll tell you! Let’s follow Jack. Maybe Dr. Winston would be there or somebody would know about us—if we told—and would telephone to Oak Knowe what trouble we’re in. For it is trouble now, Robin Locke, and you needn’t say it isn’t. You’re scared almost to death and so am I. I wish—I wish I’d never heard of a Wax Works, so there!”
Robin stopped and turned her face up to the light of a street lamp they were passing and saw tears in her eyes. That was the oddest thing for her to cry—right here in this familiar city where were railway stations plenty in which they might wait till morning and somebody came. But, softened as her tears made him, he couldn’t yet quite forget that he was the man of the party.
“It’s an awful long ways to that Hospital, and I’ve got five cents left. We can go in anywhere and I can ’phone for myself. No need to bother any doctors or nurses.”
Opposition to her wishes dried her tears.
“Well, I am going to Dr. Winston’s hospital. I’d like you to go with me and show me the way but if you won’t the policemen I meet will do it. I’m going right now.”
That conquered this small Canadian gentleman, and he answered:
“All right. I’ll show you. Only don’t you dare to be crying when you get there.”