A new name

by Grace Livingston Hill

But it was not Bessie standing in the dusky street, with the big glaring arc light casting long shadows on the step. It was the same boy with the silver buttons and the mulberry uniform who had been there that afternoon with the two great big suit boxes, and insisted on leaving them there for a Miss Elizabeth Chapparelle. She had told him very decidedly that nothing of the sort belonged there, and that she could not inform him where they should go. She had even looked in the telephone book for another Chapparelle, but had not found any. Then she had told him that he had better go back to the shop and get further information. Now! Here was that boy again! What could be the meaning of it? She wished Bessie would come home while he was here and tell him herself that the packages were not hers. Bessie might know to whom they belonged.

But the boy was under orders this time.

“Lady, they’re a present,” he announced, with a knowing wink. “I knowed I was right the first time. I’ve lived in this city since I was born, and I get around some every day. You can’t kid me about an ad-dress! This here consignment belongs here, and don’t belong nowheres else.”

Mrs. Chapparelle was quite indignant.

“I’m sorry,” she said firmly, “but I’m sure there’s a mistake. There is no one who would send my daughter a gift from that shop. I cannot receive it. I cannot be responsible for goods kept here that do not belong to us. You must take it back and say the people would not receive it.”

“Say, lady, would you want me to lose my job? You don’t know Madame! She said I was to leave it, see? And when Madame says leave it, I leave it. You c’n fight it out yerself with Madame, but I ain’t risking my job. You’ll find the young lady will know all about it, and I’m leaving it. It’s all paid for, lady, so dontcha worry.”

He dropped the package swiftly and retired to the street, where he lost no time at all in swinging himself into the mulberry car with the silver script lettering, and glided away from the door, leaving the usually capable Mrs. Chapparelle standing annoyed and hesitating in the open door, the pancake turner in one hand and the two big boxes at her feet. What in the world could have contrived to bring about this ridiculous situation? Now here were likely some very valuable garments that would most certainly have cost a great deal of money, landed at her feet for safe-keeping. She disliked to harbor them even until morning. Something might happen to them. The house might get on fire and they be destroyed, and she would be responsible. It would not matter so much if they had money to pay for such things, but they had not, and would be in real trouble if anything was damaged. It was likely the freak of the delivery boy, who did not want to bother to take the things back, and thought this an easy way out of it. She would not stand it. She would call up the shop at once, and demand that they come after their property. It was not much after six. If she telephoned at once she might catch them before closing.

She closed the door and, stooping, read the name and address on the boxes. Grevet’s. She studied the telephone book, and was presently talking with one of the employees in the office.

“No, ma’am. I don’t know anything about it, Ma’am. The shop is closed. Madame is gone. You’ll have to call again in the morning, ma’am. I’m only one of the service girls. I don’t know anything about it.”

She hung up and turned annoyed eyes toward the front door, wishing Bessie would come. How late it was! Why should Bessie be so late? It could not be possible that the child had been saving up money and had bought something for her to surprise her? She surely would not be so improvident. It would not be like Bessie. Bessie would know that she would not like it. And Bessie would never go and get anything for herself, either, at a shop like that. It would cost a fortune. As for its being a present, as the boy had said, that was all nonsense. Who would ever send Bessie a present from Grevet’s? Nobody had any right to send Bessie presents. No, it was a mistake, of course. They would open it by and by when Bessie came, and find out if there was any clue to its owner. Just now she could smell the griddle burning, so she dropped the boxes on a chair in the front room, and fled back to her kitchen.