After that, for a long time there was silence. The silence was broken at last by a startling sound. A rusty harmonica suddenly lent its doubtful harmonies to the night.
Curiosity and desire drew her from the shadows. Then she all but laughed. A ragamuffin of a newsboy with three frayed papers under his arm sat, legs adangle, on top of the dump, pouring out his soul to the moon in glorious discord.
Instantly she knew that here was her savior. She understood boys well enough to realize that the raggedest of them all could not be hired to watch a lady freeze in a well of a prison.
“Hey, there!” she called in a loud whisper, as the disharmony died away.
This came near being her undoing. The boy’s eyes bulged as he scrambled to his feet, prepared to flee. His whole being said: “I have heard a ghost!”
“No, no!” she cried aloud. “Don’t run away! I am down here. In the scow. I—I fell in. Help me out. I’ll buy your papers, a jitney for every one, and a dime to boot!”
Reassured, he dropped to the top of the scow and peered down.
“Gee!” he exclaimed. “You are in it! Been in long?”
“About an hour.”
“Gee!”