Part 16 (1/2)
Seeing her hesitate, he reached for her rein, ”I'll steady him a bit, but he's had his race. Guess he'll be satisfied. But,” he said suddenly, ”you're not dressed for this. You must be half frozen.”
Unstrapping a great coat from Patrick O'Hara's saddle, he helped her into it and together they rode away.
And so it happened that on this day, only a few days before Christmas, the throngs along State Street viewed a second unusual sight. Though quite different from the first, it was no less mystifying. Who ever heard of a gray haired policeman and a bobbed haired girl in a policeman's great coat, riding police horses and parading up the city's most congested street in broad daylight?
”What a fool I've been,” the girl whispered to herself as she hid her face from a camera. ”It will all be in the papers. And then what?”
They found young Patrick O'Hara nervously pacing his beat on foot. His face lit up with a broad grin as he saw them approaching.
”I sort of figured,” he drawled, ”that whoever took d.i.c.k would bring him back. Can't anybody do a good job of riding him except me.”
”If you think that,” exclaimed Tim Reilly, the elderly policeman, ”you just take any horse on the force, give this girl and d.i.c.k a three-length start, and see if you'd catch 'em. You would--not! Not in a thousand moons!”
Patrick O'Hara grinned as he helped the girl down.
”Now you beat it,” said Tim in as stern a voice as he could command. ”I suspect you work around here somewhere close. You've overdone your noon hour, and this the rush season. You'll be in for it now.”
Cordie threw him one uncertain glance to discover whether or not he was in earnest. The next moment she went racing across the street.
CHAPTER XI AS SEEN FROM THE STAIRWAY
”Where in the world have you been?” Lucile exclaimed, pouncing upon Cordie as soon as she came in sight. ”Rennie's been worrying her poor old head off about you, and Miss Mones, who's in charge of the checking girls, is furious.”
”Oh,” Cordie drawled, ”I was out to lunch. Then I took a spin down the park on my favorite steed. It's a won-der-ful day outside.”
”You'll have a lot of time to spend outside,” scolded Lucile, ”if you don't get right back to your stand.”
A moment later, having somehow made her peace with Miss Mones, Cordie was back at her task, rustling paper and snipping cord.
Late that afternoon Lucile was sent to the twelfth floor storeroom to look up a special order. She enjoyed these trips to the upper realms.
This vast storeroom was like a new world to her. As she walked down long, narrow, silent aisles, on either side of which were wired in compartments piled high with every conceivable form of merchandise: rugs, piano lamps, dolls, dishes, couches, clothes-pins, and who knows what others, she could not help feeling that she was in the store house of the world, that she was queen of this little ward and that there remained only for her to say the word and a house would be handsomely furnished, a beautiful bride outfitted with a trousseau, or a Christmas tree decorated for a score of happy children. Yes, these aisles held a charm and fascination all their own. She liked the silence of the place, too. After the hours of listening to the constant babble of voices, the murmur of shoppers, the call of clerks, the answers of floormen, this place seemed the heart of silent woods at night.
Captivated by such thoughts as these, and having located the missing books and started them on their journey down the elevator, she decided to walk down the nine flights to her own floor.
Here, too, as she skipped lightly down from floor to floor, she caught little intimate glimpses of the various lives that were being lived in this little world of which she was for a time a part. Here a score of printing presses and box making machines were cutting, shaping and printing containers for all manner of holiday goods. The constant rush of wheels, the press and thump of things, the wrinkles on the brows of operators, all told at what a feverish heat the work was being pushed forward.
One floor lower down the same feverish pace was being set. Here nimble fingers dipped and packed chocolate bon-bons, while from the right and left of them came the rattle and thump of drums polis.h.i.+ng jelly beans and moulding gum drops at the rate of ten thousand a minute.
Ah yes, there was the Christmas rush for you. But one floor lower down there was quiet and composure such as one might hope to find in a meadow where a single artist, with easel set, sketches a landscape. It was not unlike that either, for the two-score of persons engaged here were sketching, too. The sketches they made with pen and ink and water-colors were not unattractive. Drawings of house interiors they were; here the heavily furnished office of some money king, and there the light and airy boudoir of one of society's queens; here the modest compartment of a young architect who, though of only average means, enjoyed having things done right, and there the many roomed mansion of a steel magnate. These sketches were made and then shown to the prospective customer. The customer offered suggestions, made slight changes, then nodded, wrote a check, and a sale amounting to thousands of dollars was completed.
”That must be fascinating work,” Lucile whispered to herself as an artistic looking young woman showed a finished sketch to a customer. ”I think I'd like that. I believe----”
With a sudden shock her thoughts were cut short. Two persons had entered the gla.s.sed-in compartment--a woman of thirty and a girl in her late teens. And of all persons!
”The Mystery Lady and Cordie! It can't be,” she breathed, ”and yet it is!”
It was, too. None other. What was stranger still, they appeared to have business here. At sight of them one of the artists arose and lifting a drawing which had been standing face to the wall, held it out for their inspection.