Part 10 (2/2)
”Never fear, missus, you'll be looked after properly,” he said, consolingly.
The night and day journey to Chicago was so full of pleasant happenings that Nancy could scarcely realize it was almost over. With the Morris baby asleep in her arms, she would gaze from the window at the panorama of country drifting past, interested in its strangeness only in a superficial sort of way, while her inmost thoughts pictured the great city to which she was going, and wherein she expected her son to be the most predominant figure. Each hour seemed to be bringing him closer to her, and a mild yearning centred about her heart. Occasionally a twinge of apprehension would mar her tranquillity. She wondered if he would know her, and if he had received the postcard which she had written with so much care a week previous. She was too conscious of her happiness to let such thoughts disturb her for long, and then Mrs.
Morris lived in Chicago and had promised to watch over her welfare until she was safe in Corney's keeping.
The gradual increase in houses cl.u.s.tered into villages along the way warned her of the near approach to her destination.
”I hope I may see more of ye,” she observed to Mrs. Morris, after a long silence of reflection.
”It's a big city, and you will be very busy,” the little lady explained. ”But I shall never forget your kindness to me. I should have been very lonely and tired if you hadn't made friends,” she continued.
”It's been a G.o.d's blessin', the knowin' o' ye an' the kiddies,” Nancy a.s.sured her.
This simple-minded old body had made a deep inroad into the city mother's affections, and her joy at the early prospect of meeting her husband was tempered with a sincere sadness at the parting which it would entail.
The evening was growing quickly into darkness as they sped along, and an unusual bustle amongst the other pa.s.sengers had commenced. Now that the hugeness of the outlying districts of Chicago were being unfolded to Nancy with the long lines of lighted street, and starry streaks of electric cars flas.h.i.+ng by like meteors in a southern sky, she became aware of a keen sense of fear. It was all so different from anything in her past experience. It seemed as if she had broken ties with everything familiar except the sweet face of her companion and the two sleeping children. The roar of the city had now enveloped the train, and presently it began to slacken speed, as it had done a score of times before in the last hour. The conductor came into the car, calling out, ”Chicago!” and Nancy's heart beat so that it almost choked her. The bright glare of the station came down into their window from the roofs of adjacent trains, and then, before she rightly understood what was happening, she was out on to the platform with her arms full of her own and Mrs. Morris' bundles. A short man detached himself from a crowd that waited without the gates far in front, and came das.h.i.+ng towards them.
”It is my husband,” Mrs. Morris whispered, breathlessly. Next moment she was locked in his arms. Nancy gazed furtively about, peering at the faces, and hoping that one might be her son. After a long scrutiny, she turned a despairing, helpless face to her late travelling companion. Mrs. Morris understood, and came to her rescue quickly.
”You are a stranger in this big city, so you had better come home with us for to-night,” she suggested.
”I wrote him to be waitin' fer me, but he must have forgotten,” Nancy returned, brokenly.
”Yes, you must come, Mrs.--” Mr. Morris began, then hesitated.
”Mrs. McVeigh, from the Monk Road,” his wife told him, with a happy smile.
”The Monk Road, where is that, pray?” Mr. Morris asked, in puzzled tones.
”D'ye not know that?” Nancy exclaimed, incredulously.
The man shook his head.
She considered awhile, then made a gesture of utter helplessness. She knew no adequate description of the geographical position of her home.
It was just the Monk Road, running from an indefinite somewhere to an equally mysterious ending, and anyone who did not know that was lacking in their education. They threaded their way through the press of people to the narrow street, and entered a cab. Then, while the husband and wife talked in subdued tones, Nancy listened to the babel of clanging gongs and footsteps of many people on the pavements over which they were pa.s.sing. She suddenly bethought herself of questioning Mr. Morris as to his knowledge of her son Cornelius. His answer was as perplexing as everything else she had encountered in that strange new world. He had never heard of him. Fortunately she had a business card of her son's firm, and after much cogitation Mr. Morris decided that he could find the establishment in the morning.
Nancy secured a much-needed night's rest at the home of the Morris family, and was up and had the kettle boiling on the range before the appearance of the household.
”I'd no enjoy the day at all if I wasn't doin' somethin' o' the sort!
An' ye're tired,” she responded to Mr. Morris' surprised e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.
She had to curb her anxiety to be off until after the noon hour, and then, with a promise to return, if her plans miscarried, she was piloted aboard the Overhead by Mr. Morris.
”I'll drop you off in front of the block in which your son's offices are situated,” he informed her by the way. The run through the city was perhaps a distance of four miles, and while Nancy gazed in open-mouthed wonder, the little man pointed out to her the places of note along the route.
”It's all just wonderful,” was the text of her replies.
They drew up at a little station, and from it descended to the pavement, and at a great door in a block that made her neck ache to see its top, he left her, with a list of directions that only served to shatter the remnant of location which her mind contained. She looked uncertainly about her until her eyes rested on the sign, ”Beware of Pickpockets!” then she clutched her old leathern wallet, and with frightened glances hurried inside. But here a second labyrinth opened to her. A gla.s.s door led into a very s.p.a.cious apartment, where a number of men were counting money in little iron cages. She boldly marched in and asked the nearest one, ”Please, sir, is this Cornelius McVeigh's office?” The man addressed stopped his counting and scowled at her, but something in her wrinkled, serious face caused him to relent of his churlishness.
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