“Now, once more. Tell me exactly, or listen if I have the facts right. You are a pupil at the Rhinelander Academy in Newburgh. You are starting upon a trip for your summer vacation. You are under the care of Miss Greatorex, a teacher. You ran away from the steamer ‘Mary Powell’ in pursuit of a man whom you think carried off your own and a friend’s purse. Very well. I will send you to the boat and if your story is true you will be restored to your friends and nothing more will come of it. If it isn’t true, you will be sent to a station-house to await developments. McCarthy, proceed upon your beat.”
Larry shrugged his shoulders more snugly into his new uniform, assumed the bearing of a drum major and duly proceeded. The superior officer put a whistle to his lips, and like the genii in Arabian Nights, his servant instantly appeared.
“Call a cab. Take this young person to the ‘Mary Powell,’ foot of Desbrosses street. If her guardian is not there, drive to the other landing at Twenty-third street and inquire if the girl has been sought for there. If this is a false story, report to me at the station and, of course, bring the girl with you.”
The words “station house” sounded ominous in Dorothy’s ears. During her Baltimore life she had learned all that was necessary about such places to infect her with fear, having with other children sometimes watched the “police patrol wagons” make their dreary rounds. She had peered at the unhappy prisoners sitting within the van and had pitied them unspeakably, despite the fact that they must have been wicked. A picture of herself thus seated and despairing flashed before her mind, but she put it resolutely aside and with great humility stepped into the cab which her new protector had summoned.
This was one of those then new electric cabs and instantly riveted her attention. To move through the streets so swiftly without visible means of locomotion was as delightful as novel; and the skill with which the driver perched up behind twisted around corners and among crowding vehicles seemed fairly wonderful.
It was a most charming ride, despite the fact that she was a lost person seeking her friends, and it came all too soon to an end at the dock she had named. She recognized the place at once and was out of the cab, hurrying along the wharf, calling back to her guide:
“Here she is! This is the ‘Mary Powell!’ See?”
He was promptly at her side again, his duty being not to lose sight of her until that “report” had been duly made when and where ordered. Also, the recognition of her by “Fanny” and the other boat hands proved that thus much of her tale was true. She had come down the river on that steamer’s last trip and people had been back upon it, frantically seeking news of her.
“You oughtn’t to have run away like that, little girl, and scare them people into forty fits. That nice Judge—somebody, he said his name was—he hired no end of people to go searching for you and now you’ve come and he hasn’t. Like enough they’ve gone to the other landing, up-town, to seek you. Better drive there, policeman, and see.”
“All right. But, stewardess, if anybody comes again to inquire, say that she’ll be taken to the ‘Prince’ steamship, East river, and be held there till the boat sails. Afterward at station number —.”