“He went without his overcoat,” said Julia Cloud, hurrying to the closet for it. “It will be very cold riding. He ought to have it.”
Leslie hung up the receiver, and flung her velvet cloak about her hurriedly, grabbing the overcoat.
“Give it to me, Cloudy; I’m going with him!” she cried, and dashed out the door as the car slid out of the garage.
“O Leslie! Child! You oughtn’t to go!” she cried, rushing to the door; but Leslie was already climbing into the car, moving as it was.
“It’s all right, Cloudy!” she called. “There’s a revolver in the car, you know!” and the car whirled away down the street.
Julia Cloud stood gasping after them; the horrible thought of a revolver in the car did not cheer her as Leslie had evidently hoped it would. What children they were, after all, plunging her from one trouble into another, yet what dear, tender-hearted, loving children! She went in, and found a heavy cloak, and went out again to listen. Then it came to her that perhaps Leslie had not made the operator understand; so she went back to the telephone to try to find out whether any one had been sent. Suppose those children should try to face a burglar alone! There might be more than one for aught they knew. Oh, Leslie should not have gone! A terrible anxiety took possession of her, and she tried to pray as she worked the telephone hook up and down and waited for the operator. Then into the quiet of the night there came the loud clang of the fire-bell, and a moment later hurried calls and voices in the distance, sounding through the front door that Julia Cloud had left open. For an instant she was relieved, and then she reflected that this might be a fire somewhere else, and not the call for the Johnson house at all; so she kept on trying to call the operator. At last a snappy voice snarled into her ear. “We don’t tell where the fire is; we’re not allowed any more,” and snap! The operator was gone again.
“But I don’t want to know where the fire is!” called Julia Cloud in dismay. “I want to ask a question.”
No answer came, and the dim buzz of the wire sounded emptily back to her anxious ear. At last she gave it up, and went out to the street to look up and down. If she only knew which way was Park Avenue! She could hear the engine now, clattering along with the hook and ladder behind; and dark, hurrying forms crossed the street just beyond the next corner, but no one came by. She hurried out to the corner, and called to a boy who was passing; and he yelled out: “Don’t know, lady. Up Park Avenue somewhere.” Then the street grew very quiet again, and all the noise centred away in the distance. A shot rang out, and voices shouted, and her heart beat so loud she could hear it. She hurried back to the house again, and tried to get the telephone operator; but nothing came of it, and for the next twenty minutes she vibrated between the street and the telephone, and wondered whether she ought not to wake up Cherry and do something else.