Part 2 (1/2)
”I don't see how I can if I can't find 'em,” sighed the ”young lady.”
She went into the car and sat down heavily. Oh, it was too bad! She had been so sure the conductor would have them for her. She didn't want to lose them--not now, after that story. Oh, poor auntie!
There were not many early morning pa.s.sengers. Among others Glory noticed an old man and two young men with dinner pails, and old lady without one, and a girl in a shabby jacket. She hadn't any dinner pail in sight, anyway. She sat in the seat ahead of Glory and pored over a book. She seemed buried--lost--in it.
Glory sat on the edge of her seat with her elbow on the window-sill and her chin in her hand. Her glance wandered gloomily around the car and came to rest at last on the open page of the Other Girl's book.
What--_What!_ Glory leaned forward and gazed intently at the open page. On the margins were words scrawled carelessly in--her--handwriting! The odd, perked-up letters were unmistakable.
Who else ever wrote like that? Who ever made M's and capital S's like that?
Glory got suddenly to her feet. That was her book the Other Girl was poring over--_hers!_
Chapter III.
”I'll trouble you for my book,” a clear, stiff voice said.
The Other Girl came to her senses abruptly.
”Oh! Why!” she stammered, her lean little face flooding crimson. ”Oh, is it you? Oh, I didn't know we'd got to Douglas--oh, wait, please wait! Please let me explain.” She kept tight hold of the book and faced Glory pluckily. ”You must _let_ me explain. Maybe you think I can't, but I can. I'm not a thief!”
”I don't care for any explanation, but I'd thank you for my books,”
Glory said loftily. ”I suppose you've got the rest, too. They were all together.”
”I have them all,” the Other Girl returned quietly. The crimson in her cheeks had faded to a faint pink. She gazed up at Glory with steady eyes.
”But I cannot give them up till you let me explain,” she persisted.
”You've _got_ to let me. Do you suppose I'm going to let you go away with my good name as though I would steal your books? They were lying on the seat--I saw you had forgotten them--I took care of them for you--I was going to give them back to you this morning, but I got interested in doing that sum and didn't know we'd got to Douglas yet.
There!”
She sprang to her feet and forced the books into Glory's hands, her own fingers quivering as she did it. Suddenly Glory forgot her heroics and began to laugh.
”I never got interested in doing a sum,” she cried. ”I wish you'd tell me how you do it.”
The laugh was infectious. The Other Girl laughed too. Unconsciously she moved along on her seat and as unconsciously Glory sat down.
”Oh, it's so easy to be interested!” breathed the Other Girl eagerly.
Her eyes shone with enthusiasm. ”You just have to open the book.”
”I've opened a book a good many times and never got interested. Never was--never am--never shall be interested.”
The Other Girl laid her rough red fingers on the books.
”Don't!” she said, gently. ”It sort of--hurts to hear anyone talk that way. It all means so much to me. I had just begun history when--” She caught herself up abruptly, but Glory was curious. Was there ever a stranger ”find” than this?--a girl in a shabby coat, with rough, red hands, who liked history!
”Yes, you had just begun when--”
”When I had to stop,” went on the Other Girl, quietly. ”I think I felt sorriest about the history, though it broke my heart to give up Latin. I don't know what you'll think, but I translated six lines in your Cicero last night. I did--I couldn't help it. I haven't the least idea I got them right, but I translated them.”