Kitabı oku: «Polly in New York», sayfa 5
CHAPTER VI – THE NIGHT OF THE PLAY
Of the sixty odd pupils in Mrs. Wellington’s school, at least fifteen of them were to participate in the play. There was to be a Chorus of six girls, and a Ballet, besides the principals who also acted the drama to follow. Consequently the representative scholars not appearing on the stage, had been asked to act as ushers, and general supervisors of harmony.
Mr. Fabian and Mr. Maynard conducted Anne and her mother to the seats reserved for them, and soon the friends and families of the scholars filed in and took their seats. As the hall was generally used for other purposes, the floor was not graded, and the seats were not attached to the floor. They were ordinary wooden folding chairs to be piled up at the end of the performance.
The pianist and other music teachers from school formed the orchestra, and their opening number was rendered so well that an encore followed.
Eleanor whispered comically to Polly, as they stood in the entrance door: “Maybe the friends hope to postpone the acting a little longer.”
When the curtain was drawn aside and the first act of the playlet began, individuals in the audience became interested in watching their own girls in the troupe. The Chorus did very well, and the Ballet danced as gracefully as well-taught girls should, but once the actual acting began, there was a slight disappointment felt by the spectators.
The leading lady (the programme said it was Miss Elizabeth Dalken) was the whole show. She managed to keep in the lime-light even when she was not speaking, or acting a part. And so much of one actress, whether good or bad, was bound to pall on the audience.
“Polly, she’s spoiling the whole play! I wonder the other girls stood for it at the rehearsals,” whispered Eleanor.
“She didn’t act that way, before, I’m sure. Marion King told me all about it. She’s doing it now just to show off!”
“Not to her family! because not one of her folks are here. I heard her tell Estelle that her mother was going to a fashionable ball, and, of course, her father wouldn’t come because he had no invitation from Elizabeth.”
“Well,” persisted Polly, feeling sorry for the girl, “she must have uncles or aunts or cousins, here.”
“She hasn’t any in New York. Her father comes from upstate and his folks lived there. No one knows who her mother was, so she hasn’t a soul, here, but the chauffeur. He’s downstairs having refreshments.”
The second act ended and everyone sighed in relief because the play was foolish and so poorly acted, even for amateurs. Mrs. Wellington felt deeply hurt when she found how Elizabeth had chosen chums rather than actors for the principal parts in the play.
The third act began, in which Elizabeth was dressed in a spangled green ball-gown. It was very tight about the ankles and very low about the neck. It was too daring, even for a young girl acting a part. The gown had a long swishing tail at the back that could have been graceful on a vampire, but not on this posing girl.
Mrs. Wellington shook her head disapprovingly at sight of Elizabeth, and wished, more than once, that she had taken more time to review the actors and their costumes, before they appeared in public.
The Assembly Hall building where the play was given, had four stories. The first floor was used for refreshments, with a kitchen at the back. The second was a billiard parlor for the use of private clubs. The third floor was given over to the Hall, and the fourth floor was turned into dressing-rooms, card-rooms, smoking-room, et cetera.
As no late arrivals were expected after the third act had opened the ushers, placed at the doors, closed them to shut out the talking and laughing in the billiard rooms. Then they sat down at either side of the door, to watch the play.
The third act was progressing slowly, when the ushers heard sounds of confusion coming from downstairs. But they merely exchanged glances and thought some men were quarreling over a game of billiards.
Soon afterward, a faint odor and a haze of smoke penetrated through the chinks of the doors, and Polly jumped up quickly to investigate. The moment she opened a door, however, a thick cloud of smoke poured in. She had to cough, but she remembered to instantly slam the door again.
The other girls saw the smoke and a panic might have followed, had not Anne immediately jumped upon the stage and shouted:
“Remember – do not lose your heads! That is the only danger. We can all get out safely if everyone will be calm and orderly.”
Mr. Maynard took Mrs. Stewart with one arm, and caught Eleanor in his other, then called to Mr. Fabian to do the same with Anne and Polly. But there was such a dense mob at the only exit doors, that it was impossible to force a way through there, and the heavy smoke was now rapidly filling the hall.
To add to the scene of fear and confusion, the women in the assembly cried, some screamed, the girls ran back and forth, and the men were venting their fears in calling upon Deity, – some scarcely audible, and others in shrill screams of excitement.
Outside, one could hear the mingled calls and shouts of onlookers, the clanging of bells on the engines, and the yells of the people who had escaped and wanted to help their friends out. There were four front windows of the hall where the school entertainment was being given, but these were now jammed with women who sought that way to gain a breath of air, but were too timid to jump out to the street; and there were no fire-escapes to be found. The hallways and several doors opening to them, were a pitiful sight. The men, women, and children were crying, jostling, and stampeding each other in their vain efforts to get out and find the stairway in the dense smoke that kept pouring up from below.
Mr. Fabian saw the panic and realized that his friends must seek a rear exit, or remain until the tardy firemen brought the ladders up to the building to help them out. So he hurried to the door back of the stage. It had escaped the frightened eyes of others. Having learned that this door opened upon an entry that ran to a rear window, he next discovered the usual fire-escape that ran down to the yard, and up to the roof. It took him but a moment to assure himself that the escape was safe, then he rushed back.
“This way! Follow me – everyone!” he shouted to his friends.
They all hurried to the window and Mr. Fabian went first, in order to assist the ladies out to the iron-slatted platform, and then to start them, sure-footed, on the upward climb of the narrow iron steps.
Mrs. Stewart went first, but she was so nervous that Mr. Fabian followed closely behind her to steady her trembling form. Anne followed after her mother in climbing through the window, and Mr. Maynard followed her. The two girls were about to climb out on the platform when they heard a moan, and then a shrill cry, from the small dressing-room back of the stage.
Anne ordered the girls to come out, but Polly turned and ran back. Eleanor followed, and Anne, distracted, climbed back, too.
“Nolla, tie something over your mouth and nose – use your chiffon scarf,” commanded Polly, winding a wide silk sash about her own head.
The girls groped along the entry but could not distinguish a thing in the thick, choking haze. Then Polly came to the dressing-room back of the stage. This was comparatively clear from smoke, and there the girls saw Elizabeth Dalken stretched upon the floor, a cut in her forehead attesting to the cause of her sharp scream.
“Great Scott, Polly! What can we do now?” cried Eleanor, as the idea of trying to carry the girl up the steep ladder-way flashed across her mind only to be spurned. She had no idea of leaving her there to her fate, however.
“If we only had a rope!” wailed Polly.
“But we haven’t! If I only knew this house better I might find a back-stairway. Most city houses have them and I should think this place would have one.”
“Of course! Nolla, close this door to keep out smoke. I’ll look for the stairs.”
The few excited sentences were muttered through the mufflers tied over the girls’ mouths and noses. Then both girls began groping their way to the rear, hunting for the back-stairs.
The mass of people that had surged from the Hall had made for the wide front stairs, and but few remembered to seek for a back exit. And these had speedily found a way down. Polly and Eleanor also found the narrow back stairs, then Polly hastily commanded:
“Run and tell Anne – she can call to your Dad and explain. Then tell her to come this way, with us. I’ll lift Elizabeth over my shoulders and start down with her – Anne and you follow, at once!”
In another moment, Polly was back in the dressing-room while Eleanor was running for the rear window to advise Anne. But she found her already inside tying a veil over her mouth and nose.
“Nolla – where’s Polly?”
“All right – come on!”
“I told your father – they are safe on the roof – hurry now!”
Eleanor led Anne through the smoke, and just as they reached the entry, Polly staggered out of the stage-door with the unconscious girl hanging over her shoulder.
“Polly! Polly! You never can carry her!” cried Anne, in a smothered voice through the veiling.
But Polly kept her mouth closed and struggled on to the back stairs. Anne began to cough and choke as a reward for trying to speak, but she reached the stairs first and rushed on down to see if there was a safe passage below. Eleanor was close upon her heels, and Polly followed more circumspectly.
They reached the kitchen of the house without trouble but the heat as they passed by the second floor was terrific. Once down on the ground floor they found the rear of the place quite free from smoke, but it might only be because the fire overhead was blazing upward. At any moment the wall or upper floors might crash down and fall upon them.
“Nolla – how can we get out of this pen?” cried Anne.
“If the house is anything like Chicago’s, I’ll show you. There must be an area or cellar exit to the street.”
The kitchen light was still burning but it looked weird in the smoke-laden atmosphere. Eleanor tried different doors but found that they opened into passages leading to closets or to the front rooms. Finally she opened one and caught a whiff of fresh uncontaminated air.
“Thank heavens! Here it is, but I don’t know where it ends.”
Anne and she pushed out, with Polly behind them. They were in a dark alley, now, and had to trust to good fortune to come out somewhere, in safety. Down several stone steps, and along another dark, damp area they went, and then Eleanor stumbled against a closed door.
“Oh, mercy! Are we locked in here?” she yelled desperately, beating the door with her clenched fists.
“Nolla – let me feel for a handle – you are hysterical!” cried Anne, swiftly passing her hands over the rough wood.
“Hurry, hurry! I can’t carry this weight a minute longer!” breathed Polly, hoarsely.
Just at that moment, Anne’s hand struck an iron bolt. In a second she had shot it backwards, and the heavy door swung open to give them an exit to the side street.
All three girls ran frantically forward and Polly dropped her heavy burden upon a grass strip which edged the curb. Eleanor sobbed with relief and Anne fell upon her knees in silent thanksgiving.
“I’m off, girls, to see if I can help, in front. Have a care for Elizabeth,” cried Polly, and away she flew.
That silenced Eleanor’s hysteria quicker than anything else, and in another moment she was gone after her friend, leaving Anne to watch the still unconscious girl on the grass.
The scene in front of the building was one of spectacular interest. Seeing the crowds of fashionably-dressed people grouped opposite the flaring house, it would seem that everyone of the guests had escaped. But there was a deafening mixture of cries and shouts from every direction. Some were crying for lost friends, some wailed for help because of injuries inflicted by the stampede; firemen signaled their associates; the old proprietor of the Hall ran madly to and fro shouting and gesticulating wildly to everyone; in fact, it was a scene that shocked Polly to witness because she thought city people had great presence of mind.
Streams of water were pouring upon the flames that shot from the second-story windows, but the scaling ladders had not yet arrived, and the firemen were striving to enter the front door in order to carry the hose nozzle to a more effectual spot.
The Chief had sent some men through adjacent houses to reach the roofs and work downwards from that vantage spot. But they had not yet appeared when Polly saw how she could assist.
Acting upon an impulse, and doing exactly as she would do if she was witnessing a fire at Oak Creek, where the ranchers turn out and try to subdue the flames, Polly hastily dropped the clinging skirt of her evening dress. Having already removed the silk sash while in the Hall, she now dipped it in the flood of water that poured from the hydrant on the curb and tied it over her mouth and nose. Then she made a dash across the street.
She caught a coil of rope from the hook where it hung on the back of the engine, and pushed a way through the staring men. Before anyone dreamed of her plan, or the firemen could restrain her she had reached the corner of the building and was agilely climbing the height by holding to the copper leader.
A chorus of breathless gasps and frightened screams came from the crowd but Polly heard them not. She was too intent on her work. Being nimble and so light-weight, and thoroughly accustomed to climb up almost perpendicular cliffs, or along dizzy peaks, this ascent seemed like play to the mountain girl. But the onlookers were thrilled to silence as they watched her climb to the roof, and then safely crawl over the ledge. Instantly there was such a wild cheer from the street, that Polly wondered if something dreadful had happened. She never thought that the acclamation was meant for her.
Without hesitation, she ran over to a nearby chimney and wound one end of the long rope about it, then lowered the other end to the street. The Chief saw the purpose, at once, and signaling back to the girl who was leaning over the edge of the roof, he had his men tie the rope ladder to the rope. Then Polly began hoisting it slowly, until its end came over the cornice.
Meantime, when Eleanor found her friend halfway up the building, clinging to the leader and finding foothold in the crevices between the bricks, or on the steel bands that held the metal pipe to its moorings, she also ran across the street, and attempted to break through the cordon which had been formed to permit the men to hold out a life-net in case the daring climber should fall.
“I want to help Polly – she is my best friend!” cried Eleanor, when the fireman made her turn back.
Then she remembered the rear entrance from which they had escaped. She turned to the Chief and called hurriedly: “Send some men with me – I’ll show them the cellar entrance where they can reach the roof and different floors from the back!”
“Hallam! Colter! Take your equipment and follow this girl to a back door. You know what to do!”
The men detailed for this duty, beckoned a few others, and all ran after Eleanor who now made for the area door. She flew past Anne who was holding Elizabeth’s head upon her lap, but forgot to glance that way. Having gained the cellar door, she was about to go in but Hallam stopped her.
“No, Miss – we dare not permit anyone to enter a burning building, you know.”
“Oh, but I want to join Polly on the roof! The only reason I showed you this way was to get through myself!”
“I’d lose my place in the contest for prize medals, Miss, if I broke rules. You wouldn’t want me to lose my promotion?”
Eleanor felt that he had the best of the argument, so she very reluctantly turned and went back to the front of the house. There she saw that the firemen had climbed the ladder and were stationed on the roof and on window ledges, holding the hose from which the water poured in torrents upon the fire inside.
Then the multitude now gathered on both streets and the corners of the Parkway, were treated to another thrill. The strand of rope Polly had taken with her, was now used by her for descent. Down the taut rope like a trained monkey, came she, and safely jumped to the street.
Before she reached the ground however, a chorus of wild yells and hurrahs went forth from everyone in the crowd. The Chief called imperative orders to his men waiting with him, and the moment he had caught Polly, he forced his way across the street, carrying her in his arms as if she were a babe.
His men began climbing the rope ladder taking a hose with them. From the vantage-points gained by Polly’s courage, the firemen now kept steady streams of water playing through the open windows upon the fire beneath, and thus managed to subdue it before the hook-and-ladder truck wheeled up beside the building.
The men, led by Eleanor to the back-stairs, directed their efforts from that side, and soon the whole second and third floors became a bed of wet smoldering embers. The rest of the structure was saved.
It was learned, later, that the club members giving the “smoker” to friends, had been careless of butts and papers, and thus the fire must have originated.
The family living in the beautiful house opposite the fire, took Polly in charge, and kept away the mob of curious people who wished to see and talk with the heroine.
Polly was all right, and wondered why she should be kept indoors when others on the outside might need assistance. Suddenly she remembered her discarded skirt!
“Oh, mercy me! Did I climb up that pipe looking like this?” she cried, blushing furiously and burying her face in the cushions of the divan.
“My dear child! It was a wonderful sight! No one gave the slightest thought to your bloomers. But now you shall have one of Ruth’s skirts,” returned the lady of the house, fervently.
CHAPTER VII – MRS. WELLINGTON’S THANKSGIVING
The moment Polly was given a skirt, she donned it gratefully and said to Mrs. Ashby, her hostess: “Now I must find Elizabeth and have her cared for. I left her with Anne.”
“Where – where is she? I’ll send James for them. But I want you to keep quiet, or you’ll be prostrated, dear child.”
Polly smiled – she prostrated! But she explained: “Anne is sitting on the grass on the side street around the corner, taking care of the girl who fainted in the back-room of the theatre.”
James was summoned from the front window where he had been watching the fight against the fire, and now took his orders eagerly. Polly pointed out the corner where she had left her friends and, in another moment, the butler was gone.
“I s’pose I ought to go and hunt up my friends who escaped over the roofs,” ventured Polly.
“You’ll rest here upon this divan, or your parents will sue me!” retorted Mrs. Ashby, trying to compel, with gentle hands, obedience to her command.
Polly laughed softly. “My parents would sue you if you prevented me from doing my duty to others. Why, you-all make such a fuss over that pipe-climbing, and it is next to nothing for a Rocky Mountain girl. A day in a blizzard on the cliffs is ten times more hazardous.”
Mrs. Ashby was consumed with curiosity to ask this handsome girl who she was, and all about herself, but she controlled herself admirably, for she knew her guest ought to keep quiet.
The door-bell rang and its echo pealed through the house, but the servants were out watching the exciting events of the fire, and James had been sent for the other girls. So Mrs. Ashby opened the door.
“I just heard that Polly Brewster was here – oh! is she all right!” cried the excited voice of Mrs. Wellington.
“Right as a trivet, dear Mrs. Wellington!” called Polly springing from the couch to greet the lady.
“Oh – oh! Thank God! I’ve worried and cried over you three precious girls until my eyes are blinded! They told me that everyone was out of the place but you three!”
“Did everyone manage to escape safely?” asked Polly, anxiously.
“Everyone got out, but oh! such a panic! Some are torn, and battered black and blue, from the stampede down through those front stairs and hall. I don’t believe a single soul got out with a whole gown! They tell me it was all the fault of that ‘Pool Club’ on the second floor; they gave a ‘smoker’ to-night, and when the fire was discovered on their floor, they caused the dreadful block in the front halls.”
“Gowns are of no account if everyone escaped with life,” said Mrs. Ashby.
“But it is most unfortunate for me, just now. The story getting into the newspapers, will ruin my reputation as a school principal. Folks will ask, ‘Why did she ever choose such a place for an entertainment;’ but they will never know that I tried everywhere else, first, and found everything engaged for this week. I begged the girl who started the idea to postpone the play until the week after Thanksgiving holiday, but she stubbornly refused. So I took what I could get. I dare not tell the reporters that it was merely to please Elizabeth Dalken, and because Elizabeth’s father pays strictly in advance and has his daughter take all ‘extras.’
“You have no idea what it means to me. I am paying off the mortgages on that house where the school is located, so that I might be able to take a deep breath before I am too old to work. But this unhappy accident will ruin my reputation as a careful superintendent.”
“Elizabeth Dalken! I know her father very well, and we think he is one of the finest of men. We seldom meet Mrs. Dalken or the daughter, as we do not belong to the same set. Since Mr. Dalken separated from his wife, we have not seen her at all, but he was here and dined with us, this very evening,” said Mrs. Ashby.
“If I could only explain to him just how this happened, he might not blame me for his daughter’s injury.”
“Was she hurt?” exclaimed Mrs. Ashby. Then James came in, followed by three girls, and the adults who had escaped over the roofs.
“Here we are, Polly – safe and sound,” Mr. Maynard’s cheery voice greeted the girl who jumped up at sight of them.
Excited cries, and hugs, and happy laughs now followed as each one found the others without a hurt, Elizabeth Dalken being the only one who had received an injury, and that was merely a flesh-wound cut by the edge of the door as her head struck it.
Mrs. Ashby took charge of Elizabeth, and washed her face; then placed a strip of court plaster over the cut to keep it clean.
The fire was out and the crowd had dispersed before the firemen finished their work in and about the house. The Chief came to Mrs. Ashby’s door and asked for the young lady who was such a marvellous climber. So he was invited in to see for himself.
“Young lady, I want to make a record of this deed, as I have to report everything to the police department, you know. And I am proud to say, our records are never kept in the dark when visitors come in to see our engine house. It’s seldom we can talk about, or show a page, with such a brave act as yours, written upon it.”
Polly smiled. “But it really wasn’t anything to fuss over. It wasn’t dangerous, you know, and for anyone who can climb as well as I can, it would have been cowardly to stand by and not act. You needed a light, agile climber whose weight would not break that leader away from the wall; and I happened to be that one.”
The Chief and Mrs. Ashby exchanged glances, then laughed. “I guess it’s no use trying to make a heroine of her – she won’t have it so!” said he.
Then Eleanor spoke up. “That’s because she’s accustomed to doing such great deeds out in the mountains where she comes from – walking on the heads of rattle-snakes, killing grizzlies and lions as if they were rabbits, saving a lot of tenderfeet from blizzards and landslides – these are but a few of the little things she does out there!”
The New Yorkers gasped in astonishment; even James, the butler, stood gaping with open mouth at a real live heroine – never seen before by him except on the movie screen. So intensely interested was he, that he failed to hear his master enter by the front door, followed by a gentleman. They both burst into the room and stood amazed.
Then Mr. Ashby apologised for the abrupt entrance: “Dalken and I were at the Club when we heard of the fire so near my place. And when Dalken heard that it was Mrs. Wellington’s school-girls who were entertaining on the third floor, he came with me to see if his daughter is safe. Does anyone know where Elizabeth is?”
“Here – right here, Mr. Dalken,” Mrs. Ashby quickly assured the father. And she beckoned Mrs. Wellington to bring the girl from the alcove where she had been resting.
“My poor little girl!” quavered the father, taking the meek and broken-spirited Elizabeth in his arms. “Are you badly hurt?”
She began to cry softly against his coat collar but Mrs. Ashby reassured Mr. Dalken. “Only a scratch. Her forehead may swell a bit and be discolored for a few days, but that is all. Elizabeth owes her life to these two girls here, Mr. Dalken. One carried her out of the building after she had fainted, and the other went first and found a way down the back stairs.”
“Not really!” the amazed man gasped. “Tell me about it.”
But Polly was a poor narrator, so Anne decided to speak. She was bound that Polly should not belittle this deed as she had the climbing to the fourth floor of the burning building.
That Mr. Dalken was deeply moved, everyone could see, and when he shook hands with the two girls he said gravely, “I shall never forget how you kept me from being childless. My baby boy died three years ago to-night, and I could not have stood losing my little girl, too, on the anniversary of that sad experience.”
Elizabeth then remembered the date and hiding her face, ran back to the alcove to cry softly to herself. Mrs. Ashby and Mrs. Wellington knew the sad story, so they allowed her to weep alone. But Mr. Dalken, tender-hearted, would have gone to comfort the girl, had not Mrs. Ashby placed a detaining hand upon his arm and said: “No, dear friend – better leave her to remember and realize everything.”
Polly and Eleanor saw and heard and could not understand, but they thought it was no concern of theirs, so they forgot it.
Everyone had been introduced informally to everyone else, and at last Mrs. Ashby said: “I have had a bit of refreshment served for you, in the dining room, before you go home. After such exposures and excitement, I think we all will need something.”
Mr. Fabian wished to excuse himself, but his friends would not hear of it. Then Mr. Dalken came over and spoke to him. “Are you Mr. Fabian, the artist?”
“They say I am an artist, but I doubt it, myself,” replied Mr. Fabian, humbly, but smiling at the questioner.
“Then I am delighted to have met you, for I have a niece studying in Paris, and she writes me pages upon pages about Mrs. Fabian and the daughter Nancy, and how lovely they have been to take her about with them.”
His wife and daughter were Mr. Fabian’s pet subject so now he seemed to expand marvellously, and smiled benignly upon everyone present. On the way to the dining-room, Mr. Dalken and the artist exchanged heart-to-heart ideas and were soon fast friends.
But scarcely had they seated themselves ere another mad peal of the door-bell took James from the pleasant task of serving an impromptu supper. He was heard arguing with someone in the hall, then Mrs. Ashby turned to her husband and said: “You go and see what is the matter.”
After a short time, three re-entered the room – James, Mr. Ashby, and an ambitious-looking young man with alert bright eyes.
“Representative from the Press wants us to give him all the inside news about the fire,” explained Mr. Ashby, looking at the circle about the table.
Mrs. Wellington turned pale and gazed beseechingly at Mr. Maynard, hoping he could help her out in the inevitable story that would be written up about her school. But Mr. Dalken saw the look and comprehended immediately.
“Hello, Dunlap! How’d you get this assignment from the night-editor?”
“Oh – it’s Mr. Dalken. I’m delighted to see you, sir,” returned the reporter, very respectfully.
“Yes, these are friends of mine. Some of them are the dearest friends I have, so I do not wish them to be annoyed by finding a garbled story in the papers to-morrow morning. Consequently, I will, with the assistance of these friends, give you the facts, simple and straightforward, but see that you add nothing to them nor delete a line. Tell your boss that I said so!”
“I sure will, Mr. Dalken, and maybe I won’t be the thankful guy if you tell me the story! Can I say it came from you?” was the eager reply of the man Dunlap.
“No, sir! I am not in this at all, except as one who rushed here to help friends. Now this is the story for your paper.”
Mrs. Wellington had been anxiously whispering to Mr. Fabian, and the latter now secured Mr. Dalken’s attention. “May I have a word with you, in private, before the reporter takes down any notes?”
Out of hearing of the others, Mr. Fabian then explained that Elizabeth had stubbornly refused to postpone the entertainment, and because of her insistence, Mrs. Wellington had taken whatever hall she could find. But she did not want Elizabeth to be made to bear any of the blame, so she wants you to touch wisely on anything that has to do with the theatricals.
“I certainly appreciate Mrs. Wellington’s thoughtfulness and I will remember this. I’ll see what can be done with Dunlap.”
“Mr. Dalken is a born story-teller, Dunlap, and that is why he is so popular, I think,” remarked Mr. Ashby, just then.
“Sit down there by Fabian, Dunlap, and join our circle,” cordially invited the story-teller, after he had frowned threateningly at his host.
“Give Dunlap some coffee and don’t let him jot down a word until I’ve done talking. Then we will pick out the notes he is to have,” added Mr. Dalken.
“Oh, you can tell it so well, do let me write as you narrate?” begged the reporter.
“No, sir! I can’t read short-hand and you may get in a word I don’t want you to take. Here, James, remove the pencil and pad from that young man.”
