When the note was carried to Melville, and his opinion asked, he burst into the merriest laugh that the astonished household had ever heard from him.
“I believe that you know all about it! You two have been together a great deal of late. If you do, you must tell us. Where is Octave?” cried poor Paula, all in a tremble of fright and eagerness.
But all the answer Melville gave, though he did it with the same unwonted mirthfulness was, “I don’t know.”
CHAPTER XV.
The ways of cabmen are similar, the civilized world over; and it did not confuse Octave as it would a less accustomed traveller to have a number of these enterprising Jehus rush for her little hand-bag, as she emerged from the great station, and stood for a moment looking about her.
She had been half over Europe in company with her Uncle Fritz, who never liked to journey anywhere alone, and who found the sturdy Octave his least troublesome “pickle” whenever he was minded to refresh himself with the presence of any of them. Besides, the girl had the great gift of observation. If she had once seen a thing she never forgot it; all its little details had impressed themselves upon her memory with the distinctness of a photograph.
She had visited the great building where she had left the train but once before, and that once when, in company with her guardian, she had passed through it on her journey to Deer Hill. Yet so keenly had she observed her surroundings, that she knew directly which way to turn for a certain kind-faced policeman, whom she had seen befriend a little girl while she was waiting for their outward-bound train.
Now, to look for a particular policeman in a great city like New York would have seemed to an older person very much like looking for the proverbial “needle in the hay-mow”; but to the adventurous and romantic Octave it appeared the simplest thing in the world. So, with a feeling of perfect security, she lightly moved away from the detaining cabbies, rigidly holding to the little satchel which contained a hair-brush and comb, and Melville’s well-filled pocket-book.
Ah! there he was, in almost the same place on the block where she had last beheld him. And, with the confidence of an old acquaintance, Octave walked straight to the officer and bade him a pleasant “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” returned the gentleman in blue uniform, looking a little surprised at the unusual salutation. He was accustomed to be addressed as: “Say, look here! Where is, or what is, so and so?”