CHAPTER V.
DOTTY HAVING HER OWN WAY.
Yes, Fly was out of sight; that was certain. Whether she had turned to the right, or to the left, or had merely gone straight on, fallen down, and been trampled on, that was the question. How was one to find out? People enough to inquire of, but nobody to answer.
Horace had as many thoughts as a drowning man. How had he ever dared bring such a will-o'-the-wisp away from home? How had his mother consented to let him? His father had charged him, over and over, not to let go Fly's hand in the street. That did very well to talk about; but what could you do with a child that wasn't made of flesh and blood, but the very lightest kind of gas?
"Dotty, turn down this street, and I'll keep on up Broadway. No—no; you'd get lost. What shall we do? Go just where I do, as hard as you can run, and don't lose sight of me."
Dotty began to pant. She could not keep on at this rate of speed, and Horace saw it.
"You'll have to go back to Stewart's."
"Where's Stewart's?" gasped Dotty, still running.
"Why, that stone building on Tenth Street, with blue curtains, where we left auntie."
"I don't know anything about Tenth Street or blue curtains."