Part 8 (1/2)

”And I did the same thing,” whispered Nancy. ”I haven't a copper cent.”

It was not long before the cab drew up at a pharmacy and the two girls jumped out. There were many ”Rivers” in the city directory-”oceans of Rivers,” as Nancy remarked. At last they settled on Mrs. Hannah Rivers, Beekman Terrace, and Miss Felicia Rivers, 14 Jetson Row.

”Does either one of those sound like the address to you, Nancy?” asked Billie.

”I don't know,” replied the other wearily. ”I've lost all sense of sound and memory. We might try Hannah, anyhow. She sounds hopeful.”

Billie wrote the numbers down in her note book and gave the order curtly to the coachman, who winked one eye profoundly at the two young girls and gave a knowing smile.

”Beekman Terrace? H'it's a good w'ys from 'ere.”

Billie was provoked.

”That's none of your affair,” she said impatiently. ”We don't ask you to do it without paying you. Only do hurry. If you had never been so slow, we shouldn't have got in this mess.”

”I awn't no charioteer, Miss, and I awn't no four-in-'and driver with race-'orses at me whip's-end. I awn't in the 'orse-killin' business, either. If h'I'm to drive fifteen miles, h'I'll tyke it at me own time.”

”Fifteen miles?” repeated Billie in great uneasiness.

”Is that very far from Westminster Abbey?” asked Nancy innocently.

”H'it's a good distance, Miss.”

”Well, we're very near to the Abbey, and I'm sure that can't be the place, then.”

The cabbie roared out a great mirthful laugh.

”Where is this address?” demanded Billie, taking no notice of his amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Miss Felicia Rivers, No. 14 Jetson Row?”

”That's a bit nearer.”

”Go ahead, then,” called Billie, feeling suddenly quite hopeful and happy. ”I'm sure that's it, Nancy. It's bound to be. Our lodgings were so near to everything and it does seem to me the lodging house keeper's name was 'Felicia.'”

”She was a Miss, I'm certain,” continued Nancy. ”It comes back to me now, because I remember making a picture in my mind of a thin old maid who kept lodgers in her upper rooms, and had a cat and drank tea in the back parlor.”

It seemed a long way, however, to the abode of Miss Felicia Rivers.

Through a network of dark, roughly paved streets they drove slowly. They were very tired and hungry and the cold damp air seemed to penetrate through their heavy ulsters. At last they drew up in front of a shabby-looking old house with the usual bas.e.m.e.nt and a curved flight of steps leading up to the front door, which was opened at the very moment the cab stopped, and a woman ran down to the sidewalk.

”You've been a long time gettin' here,” she said. ”The Missus was that uneasy.”

”Will you ask my cousin to pay the cab bill?” Billie said. ”We haven't any money.”

”It was expected she'd pay the bill, Miss,” said the maid, pulling a worn old purse from her ap.r.o.n pocket.

If Billie had not been so tired and bewildered, she would have felt some surprise at this rejoinder. However, the maid paid the cabbie, who cracked his whip and drove off in the darkness. Then the two young girls hastened up the curved flight of steps and plunged into a hall of utter blackness, followed by the maid, who closed the door with a rattling bang and led them into the parlor.

”Where is my cousin?” demanded Billie.

”She says you're to wyte. She'll be up in a jiffy.”