Part 13 (1/2)

'It may be the work of a crank or a practical joker,' I replied; and I thought it possible, though hardly probable.

'If we had advertised this thing,' said the officer slowly, 'I should think little of this letter, but it has not been made public.'

'It is known,' I reminded him, 'to some three hundred men here in the grounds, and it has been told to--how many sellers of jewellery up in the city, not to mention their employes? Half a dozen picked men have been detailed to work upon the case. I don't think it likely, but some officer who covets a bit of special work might have thought it worth while to muddle the job for us; or some revengeful clerk up-town may be trying to get even with some enemy. However, the thing can't be ignored, and my advice would be, trace the letter to its author, if possible.'

There were no letters for us that morning, and I left the place soon, certain that the machinery of the bureau was quite equal to the task of looking after the anonymous letter, which, after all, did not occupy a large place in my mind.

Since my talk with my mysterious guard, I had made next day another effort to see Miss Jenrys. I had waited at the gate at Fifty-seventh Street for three long and precious morning hours, and then I had turned away anathematizing myself, and vowing that hereafter I would attend to my own legitimate business, and not prowl about after an evasive beauty, who, no doubt, had already purchased a new bag and forgotten her loss. But in my heart I knew it was not to restore the bag alone that I so earnestly looked for Miss Jenrys. I had not fallen in love, not at all; but yet somehow I had a singular anxiety to see again the face of this sweet blonde, and to hear her mellow, musical voice, if only in the two words, 'Thank you.'

Even as I turned away after my long and fruitless waiting, I did not promise myself to forget her, nor altogether to quit the chase. I hypocritically said, 'Now I will trust a little to chance.' How Dave would have laughed could he have known my thoughts!

By nine o'clock that morning there were thousands of people thronging the Court of Honour, drifting out and in under the arches of the Administration Building, and up and down upon the streets on either side of it. Everywhere there was a look of expectancy, and no apparent desire to move on.

As the morning advanced, and the active guards began to stretch ropes at either side of the entrance through which the procession would pa.s.s, the throng drew together from various directions and ma.s.sed themselves, as many of them as could drawing close to the rope outside; some with the narrow comfortless-looking red chairs seating themselves with the great rope actually resting upon their knees, to be hemmed in and pressed upon at once by row after row of crowding, pus.h.i.+ng humanity, while others swarmed boldly between the ropes and filled the smooth gravelled s.p.a.ce reserved for the honoured guests and the city magnates attendant upon them.

It was a good-humoured crowd, but it held its place until, from the entrance of the building, a line of guards in full uniform came slowly out, while from the east a second company came forward, two by two, and these spreading into a line, single file, and facing about, united with the others in forming an L, and thus slowly, quietly, but none the less surely, they advanced, while just as slowly and almost as composedly the crowd fell back, and outward, until the roped-in s.p.a.ce was cleared, only to partially fill, and to be again cleared, once and again.

Brainerd and I had separated upon reaching the place, and I had not seen him since, although I had moved about from point to point almost ceaselessly.

As eleven o'clock approached the crowd began to grow restless, and questions to be bandied about from one to another, while guards, as ignorant for the most part as their questioners, were interviewed endlessly.

'When is she coming?'

'Is she coming soon?'

'Are you sure she will come here?'

'Is it eleven o'clock?' etc.

It was eleven o'clock when I drew out from the throng that had pressed within the ropes, only to be slowly driven out again, and pa.s.sed through an aisle of fans and parasols, which had been opened and kept open, the width of three men, shoulder to shoulder, by a constant pa.s.sing of its length; and I was skirting one side of the building slowly and with my eyes searching the crowd of faces, when I heard a familiar voice near me speaking in impatient tones.

'Law, pa, it's no use! I ain't a-goin' to set on that tottlin' thing one minit longer--not for all the infanties in Ameriky! What more's a furrin infanty than a home-born one, anyhow?' There was a stir next the rope and a break in the wall of humanity about it, and then Mrs.

Camp emerged, her bonnet very much awry, and her husband bringing up the rear, puffing and worried, with a little red chair hanging from one shoulder and the faded umbrella clutched in one hand.

They saw me at the same moment.

'Wal,' began the lady, 'I'm glad I ain't the only simpleton in the world! If here you ain't! I can't get over thinkin' what a rid.i.c.kerlus thing it is fur half of Ameriky, a'most, to turn out jest to see a baby that's brought acrost from where Columbus used to live! Jest as if a Spanish baby was a-goin' to enjoy sech a crowd as this! One thing's certain, I ain't goin' to wait; if the pore leetle creetur is half as tired's I be, it'll want a nap fust thing! Come on, pa!'

A shout of laughter drowned her last words, and after explaining to Mr. Camp that I was 'looking for a friend,' I got away from the absurd old woman, who, with her husband at her heels, was marching toward the lake--'Where there was enough water, maybe, to make a ripple and where one wouldn't get stepped on if one happened to tumble down.'

As I found myself upon the outskirts of the crowd, someone set up a cry of 'There she comes!' and there was a movement toward the west end of the Administration Building.

Two or three carriages had drawn up inside the roped-in s.p.a.ce, and several smiling gentlemen with _boutonnieres_ upon their immaculate coats stood in waiting near. I turned the corner to the north, where the crowd was less dense, and had begun to deliberate upon the wisdom of moving on, when, straight across my path, half running and evidently in pursuit of some one, I saw the little brunette. I had made a quick step in pursuit, when a gloved hand was thrust out before me. 'Stand back!' was the order. There was a rush from the south end, a sudden prancing of hoofs upon the gravel, and a carriage drawn by four fine bay horses came into view around the corner of the Mines Building.

'Here she comes!' is again the cry. I am pressed back against the wall, and close beside me the soft-rolling carriage is drawn up; a gentleman alights, and, waving aside the obsequious footman, a.s.sists a lady to descend. In a moment they are gone, swallowed up by the big arched entrance, and a murmur runs through the crowd. If not the 'infanty,' they have seen one as fair and as gracious, the first lady of the White City, the able and beloved president of the Woman's Board.

When she has pa.s.sed within I replace my uplifted hat and seek an egress through the crowd, past the restive four-in-hand and down the street which leads to Wooded Island, in pursuit of the little brunette, who had vanished in that direction. And now there seemed a breaking up of the crowd, strains of music could be heard in the distance, and rumours of an approaching parade are rife. Wooded Island, at the south end, seems quite alive with moving forms; and I saunter over the first bridge, cross the tiny island of the hunters'