Part 26 (1/2)
”But ought you not to open the package? It may have been stolen. It may contain valuables, watches, diamonds, pearls.” Florence was thinking of the lost necklace.
”Ought!” Meg's face was twisted into a contemptuous frown. ”Ought! That's a landlubber's word. You never hear it on a s.h.i.+p. Many things _must_ be done--hatch battened down, boilers stoked, bells rung. Lots of things _must_ be done. But nothing merely _ought_ to be done. No! No! I want to save it for my birthday. And I shall!”
At that she snapped the cabinet door shut, then led the way out of her stateroom.
Ten minutes later Florence was on the dark winding path on her way home.
”What an unusual child!” she thought. And again, ”I wonder who that man could be? What does that packet contain?”
CHAPTER XXV THE BEARDED STRANGER
Though that which happened to Jeanne on this very night could scarcely be called an adventure, it did serve to relieve the feeling of depression which had settled upon her like a cloud after that dramatic but quite terrible moment when the irate director had driven her from the stage. It did more than this; it gave her a deeper understanding of that mystery of mysteries men call life.
Between acts she stood contemplating her carefully creased trousers and the tips of her s.h.i.+ny, patent leather shoes. Suddenly she became conscious that someone was near, someone interested in her. A sort of sixth sense, a gypsy sense, told her that eyes were upon her.
As her own eyes swept about a wide circle, they took in the bearded man with large, luminous eyes. He was standing quite near. With sudden impulse, she sprang toward him.
”Please tell me.” Her voice was eager. ”Why did you say all this was 'a form of life'?”
”That question,” the man spoke slowly, ”can best be answered by seeing something other than this. Would you care to go a little way with me?”
Jeanne gave him a quick look. She was a person of experience, this little French girl. ”He can be trusted,” her heart a.s.sured her.
”But I am working.” Her spirits dropped.
”There are extra ushers.”
”Yes--yes.”
”I will have one called.”
”This man has influence here,” Jeanne thought a moment later, as, side by side, they left the building. ”Who can he be?” Her interest increased tenfold.
”We will go this way.”
They turned west, went over the bridge, crossed the street to the south, then turned west again.
”Oh, but this--this is rather terrible!” Jeanne protested. Scarcely five minutes had pa.s.sed. They had left the glitter and glory of jewels, rich silks and costly furs behind. Now they were pa.s.sing through throngs of men. Roughly clad men they were, many in rags. Their faces were rough and seamed, their hands knotted and blue with cold. Jeanne drew her long coat tightly about her.
”No one will harm you.” Her strange companion took her arm.
The street setting was as drab as were those who wandered there: cheap movies displaying gaudy posters, cheaper restaurants where one might purchase a plate of beans and a cup of coffee for a dime. The wind was rising. Picking up sc.r.a.ps of paper and bits of straw, it sent them in an eddy, whirling them round and round. Like dead souls in some lost world, these bits appeared to find no place to rest.
”See!” said her companion. ”They are like the men who wander here; they have no resting place.”
Jeanne shuddered.
But suddenly her attention was arrested by a falling object that was neither paper nor straw, but a pigeon.
One glance a.s.sured her that this was a young bird, fully grown and feathered, who had not yet learned to fly. He fluttered hopelessly on the sidewalk.