She had sunk down on the bricks. But she had not fainted. It was not so merciful as that. It was Stephen who lifted her, and helped her to the coping, where she sat with her bandanna awry.
Stephen was not of a descent to do things upon impulse. But the tale was told in after days that one of his first actions in St. Louis was of this nature. The waters stored for ages in the four great lakes, given the opportunity, rush over Niagara Falls into Ontario.
“Take the woman away,” said Stephen, in a low voice, “and I will buy the girl,—if I can.”
The little man looked up, dazed.
“Give me your card,—your address. I will buy the girl, if I can, and set her free.”
He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a dirty piece of pasteboard. It read: “R. Canter, Second Hand Furniture, 20 Second Street.” And still he stared at Stephen, as one who gazes upon a mystery. A few curious pedestrians had stopped in front of them.
“Get her away, if you can, for God's sake,” said Stephen again. And he strode off toward the people at the auction. He was trembling. In his eagerness to reach a place of vantage before the girl was sold, he pushed roughly into the crowd.
But suddenly he was brought up short by the blocky body of Mr. Hopper, who grunted with the force of the impact.
“Gosh,” said that gentleman, “but you are inters'ted. They ain't begun to sell her yet—he's waitin' for somebody. Callatin' to buy her?” asked Mr. Hopper, with genial humor.
Stephen took a deep breath. If he knocked Mr. Hopper down, he certainly could not buy her. And it was a relief to know that the sale had not begun.