<h2 id="c22">CHAPTER XXII <br/><span class="small">IN DIRE DISTRESS</span></h2>
<p>Dorothy had traveled in parlor cars before
but had never ridden in a sleeper, which was the
style of coach she now found herself in. The
train was a through one from the west and, as
the regular parlor cars were full Ned had to get a
ticket in the sleeper which, by day, is much the
same as a parlor car.</p>
<p>As the porter set her valise down and arranged
a seat for her near the ladies’ retiring room Dorothy’s
heart beat fast, and, though the surroundings
were new and novel to her she took no interest
in them. But as the train whistled off, and the
other passengers began moving about, Dorothy
lifted her head and glanced around.</p>
<p>For a moment she felt that some mistake had
been made. Surely this was no train for ladies,
for not a woman was in sight, instead the entire
car seemed filled with men in various stages of incomplete
toilets. Some were adjusting their neckties
as they walked through the aisle, others were
fastening shoe laces, and a few buckling their belts
or slipping on their coats.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_212">[212]</div>
<p>Then she noticed, for the first time, that the
car was a sleeper, for the interior was so dark because
of the train shed when she entered that she
could not tell what it was. She saw the berths
on both sides, with heavy curtains lining the aisle.
Only one or two beds had been shut up and turned
into seats like the one she was occupying.</p>
<p>Dorothy was annoyed. Was she to make her
lonely trip in company with a car full of men?
She had expected, when she planned her journey,
that there would be other girls and ladies in the
coach in which she was to travel, and that she
might appeal to them in case of need. But a
whole car full of men!</p>
<p>She looked about for the little electric call button,
and, finding it in the casement at the side of
the window, pressed it vigorously. It was some
time before the porter responded as, all along his
route, the omnipresent men claimed his attention
for various services. But finally he reached the
end of the car where the girl in the blue sailor suit
sat up very prim and stiff, waiting for him.</p>
<p>“Is this—er—a ladies’ car?” she asked timidly.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_213">[213]</div>
<p>“A ladies’ car? Oh, yes, miss. This is all
right. This is the car for Rochester.”</p>
<p>“But I—never was in a car like—like this
before,” Dorothy objected, glancing about at the
men who were still struggling in the aisles with
various refractory articles of clothing.</p>
<p>For a moment the porter seemed puzzled.
Then, all at once, he understood Dorothy’s objection.</p>
<p>“Oh, them’s only the gentlemen gettin’ ready
to leave, miss. They’ll all be out soon, and you’ll
have more room. Anything I can do for you,
miss?”</p>
<p>“No,” and Dorothy just checked herself from
adding “thank you,” which she felt would not be
quite proper, and would show that she was unused
to the attention of a porter. Then the colored attendant
made his way down the aisle, while the
only girl in the car held her face close against the
window pane and fell to thinking of the task that
lay before her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_214">[214]</div>
<p>She was not now troubled about the car and the
occupants. If it was all right, and she would be
brought safely to Rochester in it, that was all she
had to consider. Of course it would have been
less lonely to have had the usual day coach passengers
with her, but she thought Ned must have selected
this car and she felt he knew best. Then,
too, the porter had said the men were rapidly leaving
their berths and as soon as they did so the colored
man made the folding beds into broad velvet
seats, similar to the one occupied by Dorothy.</p>
<p>When these seats had replaced the hanging curtains,
and the comfortable places were occupied
by the men who had been so lately sleeping, even
though there were no women among them, Dorothy
recovered from her first shock of embarrassment.
The passengers all appeared to be gentlemen
and not one of them seemed to even glance in
her direction, though they must have realized how
strange it was for a pretty girl to be the lone female
passenger.</p>
<p>When the spasm of brushing clothes into which
the porter threw himself, was finally over, which
operation Dorothy could not help watching for it
was done with such dispatch, and when the men
had gone to the dining car for breakfast or become
engrossed in their newspapers, she tried to map
out her day’s programme.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_215">[215]</div>
<p>“I will get off at Rochester,” she told herself,
“and then I’ll inquire for the Criterion Theatre.”
She looked at the slip of paper which she carried
so carefully in the little brown leather wrist bag.
“Then,” she went on, “if the company has left
Rochester I will go to Rockdale. But if it should
get dark!” she cried in a low wail of terror. “If
it should get dark and I should be all alone in a
strange city!”</p>
<p>Then came the thought of the folks at home and
how they would worry if night came on and she
did not reach them. Was ever a girl so situated?</p>
<p>All sorts of dangers flashed before her mind,
and now, though too late, she realized sharply how
unfit a young girl is to cope with a big, strange
world, how little the world cares for a girl’s tender
feelings, and how cold and heartless it is when
she tries to make her way through the city streets
alone, yet crowded on every side by a throng of
other human beings.</p>
<p>“But Tavia had to go through it,” concluded
Dorothy, “and I must not be less brave than was
she.”</p>
<p>The train was somewhat delayed on the run
from Buffalo to Rochester, so it was almost noon
when Dorothy reached the latter city.</p>
<p>On a slip of paper she had the directions of the
theatre she wished to visit, and at the ticket station
learned where the building was located. Then
off she started, with never a look at the shop windows
filled with wonderful displays of all kinds.
She soon found the amusement resort, and stepping
into the lobby, approached the ticket window
and asked timidly:</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_216">[216]</div>
<p>“Can you tell me where the ‘Lady Rossmore’s
Secret’ company is playing to-night?”</p>
<p>The man looked at her sharply. Then he
smiled so ironically that Dorothy’s heart gave a
painful thump, and a great lump came into her
throat.</p>
<p>“‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company,” he repeated,
with the most prolonged and distracting
drawl. “I guess there isn’t any. It’s down and
out. Didn’t play to a house here last night big
enough to pay the gas bills.”</p>
<p>“But the members of the company?” asked
Dorothy with a choke in her voice.</p>
<p>“Hum! How should I know?” he asked
with a sneer. “In jail, maybe, for not paying
their board bills.”</p>
<p>For a moment Dorothy felt that she must cry
out and tell him that the matter was very vital to
her—that she must find a young and friendless
girl who was a member of the company; but she
realized what sort of a man he was and her better
judgment asserted itself.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_217">[217]</div>
<p>“But are there any members of the company
in this city?” she persisted bravely, trying to keep
up her courage, so as to get a clue as to the whereabouts
of Tavia.</p>
<p>“In this city?” he repeated with the same distracting
drawl. “Well, no. They managed to
get out of here before the sheriff could attach their
baggage and the scenery, which he was ready to
do. They certainly were as poor a company as
we ever had in this theatre. It was awful. Oh,
no, they didn’t dare stay here.”</p>
<p>“Then where did they go?”</p>
<p>“Rockdale was their next booked place, but
maybe they didn’t dare go there, for fear some
word had been sent on ahead,” the ticket seller
sneered.</p>
<p>“How can I get to Rockdale?” asked the girl,
trying to keep back her tears.</p>
<p>“Get there on a train, of course,” and the man
turned back to the paper he had been reading when
Dorothy came in. Perhaps he was angry because
she had not purchased a ticket to the current attraction.</p>
<p>“If you would be—be kind enough to direct
me,” pleaded Dorothy. “I am a stranger here,
and I must find a—a young girl who is with that
company.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_218">[218]</div>
<p>Something in her voice and manner seemed to
touch the rather indifferent man, for he straightened
up in his tall chair and looked squarely and
more kindly at Dorothy.</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s it, is it? I didn’t know. I have
a lot of silly girls always asking about traveling
companies after they’ve left here, and I thought
you might be one of them. Now you’re talking.
Yes, of course, certainly. If you’ve got to find
anybody connected with that company you’d better
be quick about it, for I should think there wouldn’t
be much left of ’em by this time. I heard they had
quite a time of it getting their trunks away from
here. Held up for board, you know. But of
course they’re used to that sort of thing.”</p>
<p>Dorothy took hold of the brass rail in front of
her as she turned away from the window. She
felt as if she could hardly stand any more of the
man’s veiled insinuations. But it might not be
true—surely it could not be true—it was only
his cruel, teasing way. Tavia could not be in such
distress.</p>
<p>“How can I get there?” Dorothy repeated.</p>
<p>“If you want to get to Rockdale,” the ticket
seller answered after a pause, “you can take the
train at twelve forty-five.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_219">[219]</div>
<p>“Thank you,” murmured Dorothy, turning
dizzily toward the street to make her way to the
station she had so recently left. How she managed
to reach the place she never knew. The
great buildings along the way seemed about to
topple over on her head. Her temples were
throbbing and her eyes shot out streaks of flashing
light. Her knees trembled under her. If
only she had time to get something to eat! But
she must not miss that train. It might be the last
one that day.</p>
<p>Through the crowd of waiting persons she
made her way to the ticket office and purchased
the slip of cardboard that entitled her to a ride.
She learned that the train was late and that she
would have to wait ten minutes. Grateful for
that respite Dorothy turned to the little lunch
counter to get a sandwich, and some coffee. But,
before she had reached the end of the big depot
where refreshments were sold, she suddenly stopped—some
one had grabbed her skirt.</p>
<p>Turning quickly Dorothy beheld a crouching,
cringing figure, almost crawling so as to hide herself
in the crowd.</p>
<p>“Girl!” cried Dorothy, trying to shake off the
grasp on her skirt. “Let me go! What do you
want?”</p>
<p>“Don’t you know me?” whispered the miserable
creature. “Look again—don’t you know—Urania,
the Gypsy girl?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_220">[220]</div>
<p>Then beneath the rags and the appearance of
age that seemed, in so short a time to have hidden
the identity of this young girl, Dorothy did recognize
Urania. How wretched—how forlorn
she was; and even in danger of arrest if she was
seen begging in the depot.</p>
<p>“Don’t turn away from me, Miss!” pleaded
the unfortunate Gypsy girl. “Please help me!”</p>
<p>She stretched out to Dorothy a dirty, trembling
hand. The gate to the Rockdale train had been
thrown open, and Dorothy felt that the time was
almost up.</p>
<p>“You should go home,” she said, dropping a
coin into the outstretched palm.</p>
<p>“Yes, yes, I want to go home,” cried the girl,
and Dorothy was afraid her voice would attract
attention in the crowd. But the passengers were
too busy rushing for their trains to heed anything
else. “I want to go home,” pleaded Urania.
“You should take me home,—it was your fine
cousin—the boy with the taffy-colored hair—that
brought me here!”</p>
<p>“What!” cried Dorothy. “How dare you
say such a thing?”</p>
<p>“Ask him, then, if it isn’t so. And ask him
if he wasn’t in this very station an hour ago, looking
for some one—that red-headed girl, likely.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_221">[221]</div>
<p>“Do you mean to say you saw my cousin here
to-day?” gasped Dorothy. “Come; tell me the
truth and you shall go home—I’ll take you home
myself—only tell me the truth.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’ll do it,” answered the girl. “Well,
him and his brother came in here an hour ago.
They asked the man at the window if he had seen
a young girl with a brown hand bag. I stood
near to listen, but kept out of sight. Then they
dashed off again before I could ask them for a
penny, or throw it up to that dandy that it was the
ride he gave me in the auto that brought me to
this.”</p>
<p>“Don’t talk so!” exclaimed Dorothy, much
shocked. “Do you want to go back to the camp
where your people are?” She was too dumfounded
at the news to argue with the wild
creature.</p>
<p>“Yes, oh, yes, back to the camp!” and Urania’s
eyes flashed. “They’ll take me back.
Even Melea would not turn me out now for I am
sick and sorrowful.”</p>
<p>It needed but a glance to see that in this, at
least, the girl spoke truthfully.</p>
<p>“Come,” ordered Dorothy, “I’ll take care of
you. But first I must get something to eat. We
have a few minutes.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_222">[222]</div>
<p>Without heeding the attention she attracted by
almost dragging the beggar girl up to the lunch
counter, Dorothy made her way there and ordered
coffee and sandwiches for both. She hurriedly
disposed of her own share, being only a little behind
Urania, who ate as though famished. Then,
hastily procuring another ticket, she bolted
through the door, followed by the Gypsy, who
seemed to take it all as a matter of course.</p>
<p>The ride was, for the most part, a silent one.
Dorothy was busy with her thoughts, and the
Gypsy girl was almost afraid to speak.</p>
<p>“But you will see me to my home—to the
camp?” she pleaded once.</p>
<p>“Yes,” answered Dorothy. “But you must
have patience—I have something more important
to attend to first.”</p>
<p>“I can wait,” answered the little Gypsy.</p>
<p>The Rockdale station was a brick structure,
with a modest waiting-room for women passengers
at the far end. It was there that Dorothy
took Urania as they left the train which steamed
away into the distance. The room was without a
single occupant, a matter of rejoicing to Dorothy,
as she had already experienced considerable difficulty
in passing with Urania through the ordinary
marts of travel.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div>
<p>“Now you stay here,” she told the Gypsy girl,
“and I’ll go out and get you something. You
must be sure to stay in this corner, and eat carefully
so as not to make crumbs. If the station
agent should speak to you while I’m gone, just tell
him you are waiting for—for a lady, who
told you not to leave this room until she returned.”</p>
<p>Willingly enough Urania sank down on a corner
of the bench, and tried to smile her thanks at
Dorothy. But Dorothy was too excited to notice
the feeble effort. She hurried to a little store
opposite the station, bought some crackers and
cakes, and after putting the package into the
Gypsy’s hands, with another word of caution, was
off again, this time to find the Lyceum Theatre.</p>
<p>It seemed to Dorothy that any place must be
easy to find in a small town, and when she was
directed to the theatre by a man on the street, she
was not surprised to find that it was but a few
blocks from the depot.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_224">[224]</div>
<p>Hurrying along, she reached a big hall, for the
Lyceum, in spite of its name, was nothing but a
big country hall, with the additional attraction of
iron fire escapes. She knocked at the big broad
wooden door, but soon discovered that the place
was locked up and, evidently, deserted. She made
a number of inquiries of boys she saw nearby, but
all the information she could elicit from the
urchins amounted to nothing more than laughter
and “guying” to the effect that the company
had come to grief in its attempt to give Rockdale
folks a hint as to what Lady Rossmore’s “Secret”
was. It appeared that the company had arrived
in town, but had at once gotten into legal difficulties
because of some trouble back in Rochester.</p>
<p>“But where are the members of the company?”
Dorothy asked of one boy who was
larger than his companions, and who had not been
so ready to make fun of the unfortunates.</p>
<p>“Some’s gone back home I guess, that is if
they has homes—some’s hanging ’round the
hotel, where their trunks was attached as soon as
the baggage man brought ’em in—some’s sitting
around on the benches in the green. Guess none
of ’em had any dinner to-day, for them hotel people
is as mean as dirt.”</p>
<p>“Where is the hotel?”</p>
<p>“That’s the hotel, over there,” answered the
boy, pointing to a building on the opposite corner.
“Mansion House, they call it, though I never
could see much of a mansion about that old barn.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_225">[225]</div>
<p>The afternoon was wearing away and Dorothy
felt that she must make all possible haste if she
was to get back to North Birchland that night, as
she knew she must for her own sake. So, thanking
the boy she hurried over to the hotel, and,
after making some inquiries of a number of
loungers on the broad, low veranda, was directed
to the office.</p>
<p>She asked some questions regarding the whereabouts
of members of the theatrical company, but
the man at the dingy old desk was inclined to
make inquiries himself, rather than answer Dorothy’s.
He wanted to know if she had called to
settle up for any of the “guys” and if not he
demanded to know if she took him for a bureau of
information or a public phonograph, and he
grinned delightfully at his feeble wit.</p>
<p>“I don’t keep tabs on every barn-storming theatrical
company,” he growled out. “Much as I
kin do to look after their baggage and see they
don’t skin me—that’s my game in a case like
this.”</p>
<p>Dorothy pleaded with him to give her any information
he might have as to the whereabouts
of any girl or woman member of the company,
but he was ugly, evidently because of the loss of
some money or patronage in connection with the
theatrical fiasco, and would not give so much as
an encouraging word.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_226">[226]</div>
<p>Dorothy looked about but could see no one who
seemed to be an actor or actress. She had
learned in a measure to know the type. Fairly
sick and disheartened she turned away. How
could she give up now, when she felt that Tavia
must be almost within hearing of her voice?
How loudly her heart cried out! Surely some
kind fate would bear that cry to Tavia’s ear and
bring her to her friend Dorothy—for now Dorothy
felt that she could hardly go many steps farther
in her weary search.</p>
<p>She heard a train steam into the station and go
on without making a stop.</p>
<p>“Oh,” thought Dorothy, “if we could only
get a train back again soon! But I can not give
her up! I must—must find her wherever she
is!”</p>
<p>Exhausted and discouraged, she sank down by
the roadside at a grassy spot where the street
turned into a country park. She felt that she
must cry—she would feel better when she had
cried—out there alone—away from the cruel
persons—away from the seemingly cruel fate
that was so relentlessly urging her on beyond her
strength—beyond the actual power of human
endurance. Was there ever so wretched a girl as
was Dorothy Dale at that moment? Yes, she
would indulge in a good cry—she knew it would
relieve her nerves—and then she could go on.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div>
<p>The rough boys, playing nearby saw the girl
sitting beside the road and, whether out of kindness
or curiosity they hastened over to the place
and stood looking down at Dorothy in respectful
silence.</p>
<p>“Did they do anyt’ing to youse?” asked a little
fellow with a ring of vengeance in his small, shrill
voice. “Dem hotel guys is too fresh, an’ me
fader is goin’—he’s goin’ t’ do somet’ing to dem
if dey don’t look out.”</p>
<p>“Dat’s right,” spoke up another. “His fader
is de sheriff an’ he’s goin’ t’ ’rest ’em, if dey don’t
pay der own bills, fer all der talk of holdin’ de
show trunks.”</p>
<p>Dorothy raised her head. Surely these boys
were trying to comfort her in their own rough but
earnest way. Perhaps they could help her look
for Tavia.</p>
<p>“Do any of you know where the girls of this
company are now?” she asked of the boys collectively.
“I am searching for a girl with brown
hair—”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_228">[228]</div>
<p>She stopped abruptly, realizing how useless it
would be to give these boys a description of Tavia.</p>
<p>“I sawr a girl wit a big kind of a hat and a
little satchel, an’ I know she was wit de show,” volunteered
a red-haired urchin. “I was right alongside
of her when she bought five cents’ wort’ of
cakes at Rooney’s, an’ after dat I seen her sittin’
on a bench in de green.”</p>
<p>“Honest?” asked an older boy severely, turning
to the one who had given the information.
“No kiddin’ now, Signal, or we’ll blow out your
red light,” this reference being to the boy’s brilliant
hair. “We want t’ help dis gurl t’ find de young
lady, don’t we fellers?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” came in a ready chorus.</p>
<p>“I did see her,” protested Signal, rubbing his
hand over his fiery locks and rumpling them up
until they looked like a brush heap ablaze. “I
sawr her less ’n hour ago.”</p>
<p>“Where?” asked Dorothy, eagerly.</p>
<p>“On a bench in de green.” And the lad
pointed out the direction to Dorothy.</p>
<p>She followed the road to the end and there,
stretching out before her was an open common, or
the green, as the boys called it. In the centre was
a little park, where a pretty fountain sent a spray
of sparkling water high into the air. Arranged
about it were benches, under shady bowers formed
by overhanging bushes, and there were clumps of
shrubbery that separated the seats, and concealed
them.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_229">[229]</div>
<p>Dorothy walked straight to the fountain. She
sank down on a bench where she could watch the
spurting water and listen to the cool tinkle as it
fell into the basin. The sun shone through the
spray, making a small rainbow.</p>
<p>It looked like a sign of hope, but she was too
discouraged and dispirited to place much faith in
it. She wanted to see Tavia; yet where was she?
Here was the park the boys had spoken of, but
there was no sign of the missing girl.</p>
<p>Dorothy felt she could not stay there long.
After a few minutes’ rest she arose to make a circuit
of the little park, hoping she might have overlooked
some spot where Tavia might be. As she
crossed back of a clump of shrubbery she saw the
skirt of a girl’s dress showing on the border of a
little side path. It riveted her attention. She
turned down the path.</p>
<p>There sat a girl—a most forlorn looking girl—her
head buried in her arms that rested on the
back of a bench. Dorothy could see her shoulders
heaving under the stress of heavy sobs.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_230">[230]</div>
<p>She started! She held her breath! It looked
like—yet could it be her—was it—she feared
to ask herself the question.</p>
<p>The girl on the bench raised her tear-stained
face. She looked full at Dorothy.</p>
<p>“Tavia!” screamed Dorothy, springing forward.</p>
<div class="fig">> <ANTIMG src="images/p222.jpg" alt="“TAVIA!” SCREAMED DOROTHY, SPRINGING FORWARD" width-obs="500" height-obs="692" /> <p class="center"><span class="small">“TAVIA!” SCREAMED DOROTHY, SPRINGING FORWARD</span></p> </div>
<p>“Dorothy!” echoed Tavia.</p>
<p>There was a rush, and the next instant Dorothy
Dale held Tavia clasped close in her arms, while
she murmured, over and over again:</p>
<p>“Tavia! Dear Tavia! I have found you at
last! Oh, I am so glad!”</p>
<p>Tavia could only sob.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_231">[231]</div>
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