“Pay the driver—in advance—with this, or part of it,” continued Mr. Boland.
“Thank you, sir; thank you. I understand.”
Boland’s car scuttled away into the darkness.
Harry Boland, pushing through the crowd to Patience, saw the futile effort of Mrs. Welcome to take Elsie from the place. He heard Mary Randall’s brief direction and spoke reassuringly to the anguished mother as he pressed a friendly hand on her slight shoulder.
“I will see that Spencer takes you to that boarding-house, where you will be comfortable until you can get away. I will bring Patience. We may get there before you arrive.”
As John Boland foresaw, it was but a few moments after his own departure before Harry Boland reached the street looking for a conveyance. He was assisting Patience Welcome. Rather, she was clinging to him, sobbing like a frightened child. The shooting that had interrupted her pathetic attempt to sing was only part of the tragedy to her.
“I—I saw my little sister in there,” she sobbed. “She called me by name. And such a pathetic cry. Did you hear it?” Patience was sadly unnerved and ill.
“Hush, dear one,” Harry soothed her. “Your mother, Harvey and Miss Randall are there, you know. Whatever can be done, they will do. You are my one and only care, and just now, dearest girl, you’re ill. I’ll take you to the place where your mother is going. Now, please stop crying; try—try—everything will be all right.”
A taxicab appeared, the chauffeur seemingly having anticipated that he was wanted. Harry got in, half carrying Patience, and expecting to be stopped by an officer. But no policeman seemed to see or hear him as he gave the driver the address of the old-fashioned boarding-house selected by Mary Randall.
They rode in silence. Patience sat apart from him, breathing deeply of the fresh air at the window of the car as they rushed swiftly through the city streets. Slowly he felt the tension of the situation released. It was as if the dazed girl were freed from the physical mesh which had been thrown about her.