Traffic In Souls Part 30

"Then if it is publicity I don't care. I want my daughter, and I will do everything in the world to get her."

Burke calmed them as much as he could, but if ever two people were frantic with grief it was that unhappy pair.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Father and daughter were frantic with grief.]

Bobbie hurried on downtown again, promising to keep them advised about the situation.

After he left Mary went to her own room, and by the side of the bed which she and the absent one had shared so long, she knelt to ask for stronger aid than any human being could give.

If ever prayer came from the depths of a broken heart, it was that forlorn plea for the lost sister!

All through the night they waited in vain.

The first page of every New York paper carried the sensational story of the disappearance of Lorna Barton. Not that such a happening was unusual, but in view of the white slavery arrests and the gang fight in which Bobbie Burke had figured so prominently; his partial connection with the case, and those details which the fertile-minded reporters could fill in, it was full of human interest, and "yellow" as the heart of any editor could desire.

Pale and heart-sick Mary went down to Monnarde's next morning. The girls crowded about her in the wardrobe room, some to express real sympathy, others to show their condescension to one whom they inwardly felt was far superior in manners, appearance and ability.

Mary thanked them, and dry-eyed went to her place behind the counter.

For reasons best known to himself, the manager was late in arriving that morning. The minutes seemed century-long to Mary as she hoped against hope.

A surprisingly early customer was Mrs. Trubus, who came hurrying in from her big automobile. She went to Mary's counter and observed the girl's demeanor.

"Dear, was it your sister that I read about in the paper this morning?"

she inquired.

"Yes," very meekly. Mary tried to hold back the tears which seemed so near the surface.

"I am so sorry. I remembered that you once spoke of your sister when you were waiting on me. The paper said that she worked here at Monnarde's, and I remembered my promise of yesterday that I would do anything for you that I could. Mr. Trubus is greatly interested in philanthropic work, and of course what I could do would be very small in comparison to his influence. But if there is a single thing...."

"There's not, I'm afraid. Oh, I'm so miserable--and my poor dear old daddy!"

Even as she spoke the manager came bustling into the store. He had evidently pa.s.sed an uncomfortable night himself, although from an entirely different cause. In his hand he bore the morning paper, which he just bought outside the door from one of several newsboys who stood there shouting about the "candy store mystery," as one paper had headlined it.

"See, here!" cried he, turning to Mary at once. "What do you mean by bringing this disgrace down upon the most fashionable candy shop in New York. You will ruin our business."

"Oh, Mr. Fleming," began Mary brokenly, "I don't understand what you mean. I have done nothing, sir!"

"Nothing! _Nothing_! You and this miserable sister of yours!

Complaining to the police, are you, about men flirting with the girls in my store? Do you think society women want to come to a shop where the girls flirt with customers? No! I'm done right now. Get your hat and get out of here!"

"Why, what do you mean?" gasped the girl, her fingers contracting and twitching nervously.

"You're fired--bounced--ousted!" he cried. "That's what I mean." He turned toward the other girls and in a strident voice, unmindful of the two or three customers in the place, continued. "Let this be a lesson.

I will discharge every girl in the place if I see her flirting. The idea!"

And he pompously walked back to his office as important as a toad in a lonely puddle.

Mary turned to the counter, which she caught for support. One of the girls ran to her, but Mrs. Trubus, standing close by, placed a motherly arm about her waist.

"There, you poor dear. Don't you despair. This is a large world, and there are more places for an honest, clever girl to work in than a candy store run by a popinjay! You get your hat and get right into my car, and I will take you down to my husband's office, and see what we can do there. Come right along, now, with me."

"Oh, I must go home!" murmured Mary brokenly.

But at the elderly woman's insistence she walked back, unsteadily, to the wardrobe room for her hat and coat.

"How dare you walk out the front way," raved the manager, as she was leaving with Mrs. Trubus.

Mary did not hear him. The tears, a blessed relief, were coursing down her flower-white cheeks as the kindly woman steadied her arm.

"Well! That suits me well enough," muttered Mr. Fleming philosophically, as he retired to his private office. "I lost a lot at poker last night--and here are two salaries for almost a full week that won't go into anyone's pockets but my own. First, last and always, a business man, say I."

CHAPTER XIV

CHARITY AND THE MULt.i.tUDE OF SINS

In the outer office of William Trubus an amiable little scene was being enacted, far different from the harrowing ones which had made up the last twelve hours for poor Mary.

Miss Emerson, the telephone girl, was engaged in animated repartee with that financial genius of the "Mercantile Agency," with whose workings the reader may have a slight familiarity, located on the floor below of the same Fifth Avenue building.

"Yes, dearie, during business hours I'm as hard as nails, but when I shut up my desk I'm just as good a fellow as the next one. All work and no play gathers no moss," remarked Mr. John Clemm.

"You're a comical fellow, Mr. Clemm. I'd just love to go out to-night, as you suggest. And if you've got a gent acquaintance who is like you, I have the swellest little lady friend you ever seen. Her name is Clarice, and she is a manicure girl at the Astor. We might have a foursome, you know."

"That's right, girlie," responded Clemm, as he ingratiatingly placed an arm about her wasp-like waist. "But two's company, and four's too much of a corporation for me."

"Oh, Mr. Clemm--nix on this in here--Mr. Trubus is in his office, and he'll get wise...."

As she spoke, not Mr. Trubus, but his estimable wife interrupted the progress of the courtship. She walked into the doorway, from the elevator corridor, holding Mary's arm.

As she saw the lover-like att.i.tude of the plump Mr. Clemm, she gasped, and then burst out in righteous indignation.

"Why, you shameless girl, what do you mean by such actions in the office of the Purity League? I shall tell my husband at once!"

Miss Emerson sprang away from the amorous entanglement with Mr. Clemm and tried to say something. She could think of nothing which befitted the occasion; all her glib eloquence was temporarily asphyxiated. Mr.

Clemm stammered and looked about for some hole in which to conceal himself. He, too, seemed far different from the pugnacious, self-confident dictator who reigned supreme on the floor below.

"William! William Trubus!" called the philanthropist's wife angrily.

Her husband heard from within, and he opened the door with a thoroughly startled look.

"My dear wife!" he began, purring and somewhat uncertain as to the cause of the trouble. Mary, nervous as she was, observed a curious interchange of glances between the two men.

"William, I find this brazen creature standing here hugging this man, as though your office, the Purity League's headquarters, were some Lover's Lane! It is disgusting."