Gretel’s face was very grave as she hung up the telephone, after obtaining Fräulein’s address, for, somewhat to her surprise, she learned that the family had moved during the past week. They were now occupying an apartment on the upper East Side, Fräulein’s uncle told her, whereas their former home had been on the West Side, not far from Central Park. It seemed a little odd that Fräulein should not have written her of this change of address, but at the moment Gretel had only one thought; poor, dear Fräulein—who had always been so kind to her—was ill, and longing to see her. How thoughtless and unkind she had been to forget her engagement of two weeks ago. Fräulein had never answered her letter of apology, and Gretel had feared her friend’s feelings had really been hurt.
It was only just four o’clock, and without a moment’s hesitation Gretel ran up-stairs for her hat. There would be plenty of time to see Fräulein and be back again before her brother arrived. Mrs. Murphy was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the sound of voices in the kitchen, Gretel decided that the caretaker must be entertaining company. Going to the top of the basement stairs, she called to the Irish woman that she was going out for a little while, to which information Mrs. Murphy responded with a cheerful:
“All right, dearie; have a nice time.”
Two minutes later Gretel had closed her brother’s front door behind her and was walking rapidly down the street.
The address Fräulein’s uncle had given was much further uptown, as well as being farther east, and Gretel, anxious not to lose time, decided to take a car, and, having pushed her way on board a crowded open trolley, she was soon being carried rapidly to the upper part of the great city. She felt very anxious about Fräulein, but found some comfort in the recollection that her friend was apt to make a good deal of slight illnesses. Perhaps, after all, things were not quite as bad as Fräulein’s uncle had represented.
A ride of fifteen minutes brought her to a part of the city with which she was quite unfamiliar, and, alighting at a corner of a rather shabby street, she turned her face eastward. She was not at all afraid of not finding her way. She had been accustomed to going about the city by herself since she was a little girl, although of late years Percy and Barbara had insisted on having a maid accompany her when going any distance from home. She walked on briskly for several blocks, the neighborhood growing shabbier and more squalid as she proceeded. There was no doubt that this was a poorer part of the city than where Fräulein’s family had lived before. She was afraid her uncle must have met with business reverses lately. Poor Fräulein, how she must hate this neighborhood; she was so fond of luxury and comfort.
The sidewalks were swarming with shabbily dressed children, who screamed and shouted, and at times impeded her progress.
She paused at last before a dingy apartment house, and going up the steps began looking for the name she wanted. Yes, there it was: “R. Becker; third floor back.” Gretel rang Mr. Becker’s bell, and waited. In a moment the latch clicked, and Gretel—who knew the way of apartment houses—pushed open the door and stepped into a dark, narrow hall. There was no one to be seen, but a mingled odor of onions and cabbage proved that the house was inhabited, and Gretel made her way up the steep, not very clean stairs to the third floor.
She had reached the top of the first flight, when a voice inquired over the banisters:
“Is it Mees Schiller?”