Part 11 (1/2)
”Eh, what?” almost shouted Pinkie. ”Do you mean it?”
”Do I mean it?” insisted ”Marky.” ”Sure. I've got a taxi waiting outside. Will you come?”
Pinkie rose majestically to the occasion. Drying her eyes, and looking anxiously at the parlor clock for fear that it might already be time for Flossie to return before she could get into the taxicab, she grabbed her coat, without even waiting to get a hat, seized ”Marky” by the arm and dragged him toward the hallway.
”Will I?” she repeated. ”Watch me, kid.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”I'M SORRY I'M SO POOR” SOBBED PINKIE.]
CHAPTER VIII
SANFORD GORDON REAPPEARS
A smart limousine car darted across Broadway, turned the corner, and drew up before the door of Mrs. Anderson's boarding-house. A tall, dark, good-looking chap, whose erect figure was completely enveloped in a fur-lined overcoat, emerged, and walked briskly up the steps. Lizzie answered the bell, and started back in surprise when the stranger calmly stepped inside, closed the door, slipped her a dollar bill, and said quietly:
”Take this card to Miss Farnum. She is expecting me.”
”Yes, sir,” stammered Lizzie. ”Will you wait in the parlor, sir?”
”So this is where she lives?” mused the visitor, shaking his head as he looked around the neat but poorly furnished room, with its supply of theatrical photographs and the large picture of Arnold Lawrence, leading man, on the piano. ”I'll soon get her out of this miserable hole.”
Martha Farnum entered, her step so light that he did not hear her until she touched his arm and extended her hand in greeting. ”Mr. Gordon!”
”I received your message,” cried Sanford, turning quickly and clasping her hand with such fervor that Martha unconsciously sought to withdraw it. ”I'm glad you remember me.”
”I remembered the name,” explained Martha. ”You are a man so much talked about that it is not strange a little country girl should remember the time she first met so celebrated a personage. But when you sent me the note to-night, I realized for the first time that it was you who had been sending me so many presents.”
”Only a few trifles--”
”And so I wanted to see you.”
”That was kind of you,” replied Gordon, as they sat on the sofa. ”I have been wanting to see you all these weeks, but somehow I didn't know how to begin. Finally, to-night, I decided to write you a little message and see if you remembered me.”
Martha turned toward him frankly.
”I want to know the meaning of your remarkable presents,” she said, with the utmost ingenuousness.
Gordon laughed a trifle, as though to dismiss the matter.
”Nonsense,” he declared. ”They weren't so very remarkable. A few presents and a little pin-money which I thought might come in handy for a girl getting a small income.”
”Such presents would be appreciated by some girls,” replied Martha, offering him a small packet which she had held in her hand, ”but I have no right to take them.”
”Then you haven't spent anything?” exclaimed Gordon, in surprise, looking at the roll of yellow-backed bills and the half-dozen trinkets which she returned to him.
”Not a dollar. I would have returned them sooner, but I didn't know who the mysterious donor was.”
”Please keep the money, Miss Farnum, and the other things. They mean nothing to me, and think of the comfort and pleasure they can bring you.”