“No, no. No, indeed, sir. Now, this way, please. I’ll just enter the case at the desk and call up the matron. She’ll tend to the girl all right. You needn’t bother any more.”
“Oh! are you going?” asked Jessica, her face drooping.
“Not yet. No law against my having a meal with this young lady, is there, officer?”
“If it isn’t at the public charge, sir,” answered the policeman.
“Oh! I’ve money to pay for my own dinner. See?” cried Lady Jess, producing the fat wallet Ephraim had given her and which she pulled from within her blouse, where she had worn it, suspended by a string.
“Whew! child! All that? Put it up, quick. Put it up, I say.”
Instinctively she obeyed and hid the purse again, but her face expressed her surprise, and the young man answered its unspoken question.
“Very few little girls of your age ever have so much money as that about them. None ever should have. It’s too great a temptation to evil-minded persons, and a good many of that sort come here. Ah! the matron! I’ll ask her to show us into some less public place and I’ll order a dinner from that restaurant nearby.”
In response to his request the motherly woman in charge of the women’s quarters offered him her own little sitting-room; “if they’ll say yes to it in the office,” she added, as a condition.
This was soon arranged, the dinner followed and a very hungry Jessica sat down to enjoy it. Her companion also pretended to eat, but encouraged her to talk and found himself interested in her every moment. He, also, promptly told her who he was; a reporter and occasional artist, on one of the leading daily papers. A man always on the lookout for “material,” and as such he meant to use the sketch, he had made. He showed her the sketch, and explained that he would put an item in the next issue of his paper which might meet the eye of the missing sharpshooter and notify that person where to find her, if he had not done so before.