“I don’t want them,” said Marion quickly, as she guessed what he meant, “I just want to get the address of the person that left them here. She is a friend of mine, the woman who owned them, and I want to find her if she is in the city.”
The man looked at her sharply and saw that he had nothing to fear.
“I tells nottings,” he said, crossly, “except dat I bought them vrom a man vot I nefer saw before.”
“Then it was not a lady who left them,” said the country girl, quickly.
“I tells nottings more,” repeated the man.
Marion left the shop, being unable to elicit further information. She was satisfied now that Mr. Lawson was in the city—or was it Bert who had pawned them? It lay between them.
“I am sure it was Lawson,” she whispered firmly: “I will not allow myself to think ill of Bert. Poor boy, I pity him, alone in this big city.”
She hailed a car and was soon riding down the Bowery just as the officer had told her, but she was so upset over her discovery that she hardly glanced out of the window.
Twice the conductor had to ask her for her fare, and when the stylish, handsome girl asked him how much the ride would cost he stared at her in earnest, and so did the passengers.
But Marion was learning very rapidly, now. Excitement was clearing her brain and sharpening her wits. It would not be very long before she would rid herself of her timidity at the great city’s bewilderments.