“Then I sneaked into an alley and made a ‘lightning change,’” said Bert, laughing, “and I’ve got your swell clothes, Marion, all carefully done up in a bundle.”
“And you went to the little boarding-house?” asked Marion, again.
“Sure,” said Bert, “and I’ve got a receipt for a week’s board in advance in my pocket. Now if I could only get a job I’d be all right,” he said, cheerfully, “unless the Poor Farm people keep on chasing me around the city.”
“They are mighty interested in you, Bert,” said Dollie, slowly. “Other boys have run away and they did not chase them.”
“That’s just it,” said Bert, quickly. “Matt Jenkins is scared to death. He’s lost so many boys that he’ll lose his job next, that is why he is trying so hard to find some of his truants.”
Marion had put the bread and milk on the table, making a place for Bert, and as they all ate their frugal meal she glanced over the evening paper.
“Here is a mention of our beloved aunt and uncle in the society columns,” she said, scornfully. “I wonder if they have ever repented of their hard-heartedness to their poor niece.”
Bert and Dollie stared at her as she hastened to explain.
“Mother’s sister Susan is living at ‘The Norwood,’ a fine apartment-house here in the city, and when I came to New York in search of Dollie, I called on them and asked them to help me.”
“And they were mean enough to refuse?” asked Bert, indignantly.