His voice was charged and crackling with excitement and importance.
"Will you meet me at Brentano's, corner Twenty-sixth Street and the Avenue right away?"
"Why," I said piteously—"tell me, in God's name—have you news?—what d'you mean?"
A swirl of hope and apprehension swept me like a wave and left me gasping.
"Yes, Uncle Ranny," was the chuckling reply. "I have news—she's—I know where she is—Come right over!"
And without giving me a chance to say more, the young devil hung up the receiver. I cursed the boy in my heart for being a boy—for his callousness to another's suffering.
Exactly how I reached that corner, I cannot now remember. I did not walk and yet I cannot for the life of me recall what manner of conveyance I used. So much happened in my mind during that transit that external matters left absolutely no impression upon it. The first impression I do recall is the shock of blank chagrin that struck me like a shot in the vitals when I saw Randolph standing jauntily alone at the corner, staring at the passing crowd. Alicia was not with him.
Yet how important the young rascal suddenly seemed in my eyes. He alone in all the world had present knowledge of her. I could have fallen upon him and hugged him then and there—and shamed him to death.
"Where—where is she?" I blurted out. "I thought you—tell me, in heaven's name!" and I seized hold of him fiercely, as though he were a pickpocket caught in the act. He glanced at me with humorous cockiness and laughed. Then suddenly conscious that people were staring at us, and that a policeman was speculatively watching our encounter, he hastily put his arm through mine and drew me away.
"Come on, Uncle Ranny, I'll lead you to where she is."