Dorothy Dale in the City Part 15

Tavia thought anyone with such a foot would naturally feel embarra.s.sed to be found out. Now for her own. She stooped cautiously, deeply interested in her mission, under the curtain and a heavy hand was laid on her shoulder. She looked up in dazed astonishment into the dark face of the porter. Mercy! did he think she was trying to enter the berth? She realized, instantly, how suspicious her actions must have appeared.

"Please find my shoe!" she commanded, haughtily, "it is not in my berth."

The porter released her. "Yo' done leave 'em fo' me to be polished?" he inquired, respectfully.

"No, indeed," replied Tavia, trying to maintain her haughty air, "it has simply disappeared, and I must have two shoes, you know."

"O' course," solemnly answered the porter.

"Tavia," called Dorothy's voice, "what is the trouble?"

"Nothing at all," calmly answered Tavia, "I've lost a shoe; a mere nothing, dear."

One by one the curtains moved, indicating persons of bulk on the other side, trying to dress within the narrow limits, and the murmur of voices rose higher. Shoes were drawn within the curtains and soon there were none left, and Tavia stood in dismay. Aunt Winnie, Dorothy and Ned and lovely Mrs. Sanderson joined Tavia, others stood attentively and sympathetically looking on while they searched all over the car, dodging under seats, pulling out suit-cases and poking into the most impossible places, in an endeavor to locate Tavia's lost shoe.

A sharp, sudden bark and Mrs. Sanderson returned in confusion to her section and smothered the protests of her dog. She called Ned to help her put him into his little white basket, at which doggie loudly rebelled. He had had his freedom for an entire night, running up and down the aisle, playing with the good-natured porter.

Doggie played hide-and-seek under the berths and dragged various peculiar-looking black things back and forth in his playful scampering and he did not intend to return to any silk-lined basket after such a wild night of fun! So he barked again, saucy, snappy barks, then he growled fiercely at everyone who came near him. In fact, one of the peculiar-looking black things at that very moment was lying in wait for him, expecting him back to play with it, and just as soon as he could dodge his mistress, doggie expected to rejoin it, reposing in a dark corner of the car. At last he saw his opportunity, and with a mad dash, the terrier ran down the aisle, determination marking every feature, as pretty Mrs. Sanderson started after him, and Ned followed. Tavia sat disconsolately in her seat, wondering what anyone, even the most resourceful, could do with but one shoe!

A sudden howl of mirth from Ned, and an amused, light laugh from Mrs.

Sanderson, and, back they came, Ned gingerly holding the little terrier and Mrs. Sanderson triumphantly holding forth Tavia's shoe. By this time every pa.s.senger had left the car, and the cleaning corps stood waiting for Aunt Winnie's party to vacate the vehicle.

Tavia put on the shoe, but first she shook the terrier and scolded him.

He barked and danced up and down, as though he were the hero of the hour.

"We must get out of here, double-quick," said Ned.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Dorothy, "where is everything! I never can grab my belongings together in time to get off a train."

"I'm not half dressed," chirped Tavia, cheerfully, "and they will simply have to stand there with the mops and brooms, until I'm ready."

Aunt Winnie sat patiently waiting. "Do you want to go uptown in the subway or the 'bus," she asked.

"Both!" promptly answered the young people.

CHAPTER XI A HOLD-ON IN NEW YORK

"My! Isn't it hard to hang on!" breathed Tavia, clinging to Dorothy, as the subway train swung rapidly around the curves. As usual the morning express was crowded to overflowing, and the "overflowers" were squeezed tightly together on the platforms. Ned held Aunt Winnie by the arm and looked daggers at the complacent New Yorkers who sat behind the morning papers, unable to see any persons who might want their seats.

"Such unbearable air! It always makes me faint," said Aunt Winnie, weakly.

"Let's get out as quickly as possible," said Dorothy, "the top of a 'bus for mine!"

"So this is a subway train," exclaimed Tavia, as she was lurched with much force against an athletic youth, who simply braced himself on his feet, and saved Tavia from falling.

"The agony will be over in a second," exclaimed Ned, as the guard yelled in a most bewildering way, "next stop umphgetoughly!" and another in the middle of the train, screamed in a perfectly unintelligent manner, "next stop fothburgedinskt!"

"What did he say?" said Tavia, wonderingly.

"He must have said Forty-second Street," said Aunt Winnie, "that I know is the next stop."

"I would have to ride on indefinitely," said Tavia, "I could never understand such eloquence."

"There," said Dorothy, readjusting herself, "I expected to be hurled into someone's lap sooner or later, but I didn't expect it so soon."

"You surely landed in his lap," laughed Tavia, "see how he's blushing.

Why don't you hang onto Ned, as we are doing."

"Poor Ned," said Dorothy, but she, too, grasped a portion of his arm, and like grim death the three women clung to Ned for protection against the merciless swaying of the subway train.

Reaching Forty-second Street, up the steps they dashed with the rest of the madly rushing crowd of people and out into the open street. Tavia tried to keep her mouth closed, because all the cartoons she had ever seen of a country person's first glimpse of New York pictured them open-mouthed, and staring. She clung to Dorothy and Dorothy hung on Aunt Winnie, who had Ned's arm in a firm grip.

Such crowds of human beings! Neither Dorothy nor Tavia had ever before seen so many people at one glance! So many people were not in Dalton in an entire year.

"This isn't anything," said Ned, out of his superior knowledge of a previous trip to New York. "This is only a handful-the business crowd."

"Oh, let's stay in front of the Grand Central Terminal," said Dorothy, "I want to finish counting the taxicabs, I was only up to thirty."

"I only had time to count five stories in that big hotel building," cried Tavia, "and I want to count 'em right up into the clouds."

"They're not tall buildings," said Ned, just bursting with information.

"Wait until you see the downtown skysc.r.a.pers!"

"Ned throws cold water on all our little enthusiasms," pouted Dorothy.

"Never mind," said Aunt Winnie, "you and Tavia can come down town to-morrow and spend the day counting people and things."

Arriving at the corner of Fifth Avenue, and successfully dodging many vehicles, they got safely on the opposite corner just in time to catch a speeding auto 'bus. Up to the roof they climbed.

"Isn't it too delightful!" sighed Tavia, blissfully.

"We'll come down town on a 'bus every day," declared Dorothy.

They pa.s.sed all the millionaires' palatial residences in blissful ignorance of whom the palaces sheltered. They didn't care which rich man occupied one mansion or another, they were happy enough riding on top of a 'bus.

Tavia simply gushed when they reached the Drive and a cutting sharp breeze blew across the Hudson river.

"I never imagined New York City had anything so lovely as this; I thought it was all tall buildings and smoky atmosphere and-lights!" declared Tavia.

Along the river all was quiet and luxurious and wonderful. The auto 'bus stopped before a small apartment house-that is, it was small comparatively. The front was entirely latticed gla.s.s and white marble. A bell boy rushed forward to relieve them of their bags, another took their wraps and a third respectfully held open the reception hall door. Down this hall, lined on two sides with growing plants, Aunt Winnie's party marched in haughty silence. They were afraid to utter an unseemly word.

Tavia's little chin went up into the air-the bell boys were very appalling-but they shouldn't know of the visitors' suburban origin if Tavia could help it. They were a.s.sisted on the elevator by a dignified liveried man, and up into the air they shot, landing, breathless, in a perfectly equipped tiny hall. At home, of course, one would call it a tiny hall, but in a New York apartment house it was s.p.a.cious and roomy.

Still another person, this time a woman, in spotless white, opened the door and into the door Aunt Winnie disappeared, and the others followed, although they were not at all sure it was the proper thing to do.

Then Tavia gasped. In her loveliest dreams of a home, she had never dreamed of anything as perfectly beautiful as this. Little bowers of pink and white, melted into other little rooms of gold and green and blue, and then a velvety stretch of something, which Tavia afterward discovered was a hall, led them into a kitchenette.