For it was as "Madam" that Janice knew the woman. It seemed to fit, and she seemed to expect its use. She was a very interesting person, the girl thought, and naturally she was curious about the black-eyed woman.
There was an hour's wait at Chicago, and when Janice and her acquaintance left the train together it was to enter a dense throng in the train-shed.
"Be careful, my dear," whispered Janice's companion warningly. "Keep your coat buttoned across your chest. No knowing—pickpockets always in big crowds are—yes."
Janice was inclined to smile; but as her companion walked closely upon one side of her she felt herself being shouldered roughly on the other hand.
She turned sharply and with an exclamation. Her coat was torn open by some means. Janice wore a loose-fitting blouse and it was not easy to be certain that a hand was at her bosom.
"Look! that boy!" hissed Madam in the girl's ear. "Such a shrewd-faced rascal. Ach! I believe he tried to rob you."
Janice, clutching quickly at her blouse over the packet of banknotes, knew her money was safe. She only saw the back of the boy to whom Madam referred.
"Why!" Janice Day murmured. "He isn't a bit bigger than Marty. Do—do you really think he tried to rob me, Madam?"
"Sure of it!" announced her companion with emphasis. "Ach, yes! We know so little about those we meet in a crowd, my dear."