Dorothy's Tour Part 28

Just then the conductor and a brakeman pa.s.sing from the next car through their own explained what had occurred to Mr. Ludlow and the other interested listeners.

First lighting the gas lamps to dispel the semi-darkness, the conductor said, "Sir, you see the lightning struck the train right between the first pa.s.senger car and the baggage, severing the connection, and leaving the engine and baggage car free to go ahead.

They did, and running a little farther ahead it jumped the track, but no one was hurt. The shock somehow set the brakes, and brought the remaining cars to a stop. It's lucky we held to the tracks, sir, it is indeed."

"Did anyone in the pa.s.senger cars get hurt?" questioned Mr. Ludlow.

"No, sir, only a few fainted," answered the conductor.

"What are we going to do now? We have no power to go ahead, and we can't even go back. We can't move. Are we to stay right where we are, conductor?"

"For a time, we must," was the answer.

"When is another train due here?" questioned Mrs. Calvert.

"A train is due to come through this way in an hour and a half, madam," said the conductor. "But that will not help us any to go ahead. We have sent word back and may expect help from the nearest station. Some arrangement can likely be made to switch us off on a branch road, and by a circuitous route we can get back again to our line."

"And how about our concert to-night?"

"If help is promptly sent we may get you there on time."

"We were due at five o'clock," said Mr. Ludlow.

"We can't promise you anything definite now," said the conductor, as he went about his duties.

"All we can do is to just sit still and hope for aid, and that it will come in time," said Mrs. Calvert.

"I'm afraid that's all, except to be thankful that we were not killed," suggested Mr. Ludlow.

The exact idea of their position was finally grasped by all, and everyone breathed a little prayer for having been saved so miraculously. They all quieted down and prepared to sit there and wait, and hope for the arrival of a train bringing aid. An hour an a half, so they had been told, and that hour and a half seemed the longest hour and a half that most of them had ever experienced.

Finally they heard a shout from one of the brakemen, a glad shout, a joyous sign, they thought, and then the conductor came through and announced, "Sir, a small repair train has just come up to us. They sent it out very promptly, as they thought that we might be in even more serious need than we are."

"Can it take us back, then?" asked Mr. Ludlow, and the rest of the company sighed in relief, because they now knew that they were safe and would eventually be pulled out of their present position.

"It can take back two cars, sir," answered the conductor, "and would you object, sir, if I put some other pa.s.sengers in here with you?"

"Not at all," answered Mr. Ludlow. "Bring in as many as you wish. We will be only too glad to have them."

The conductor departed, returning in a little time, accompanied by about a dozen women and half as many small children, saying, "I brought the women and young ones, as I thought that they would be more comfortable in here."

Dorothy and Ruth, alert and interested, forgot their own discomfort in rendering aid to others, anxious and in distress.

"They have connected the little repair train engine to the two cars,"

the conductor announced, "and we will be off in a short time now. We are going back up the road a little way and branch off, and so recover the main line. We think we will get you to your destination in time for your concert."

This was done, but with little time to spare, and if all the artists were not quite up to their usual standard of excellence that night, the experience of the afternoon was quite sufficient excuse.

The remainder of the trip to St. Louis was without event of note. The accident on the train was not without its advantages in the way of publicity, and their concerts drew large audiences. In St. Louis two concerts were given, both being very successful.

CHAPTER XVII.

CONCLUSION.

In the sequence of events the tour came to an end. A twenty-weeks'

season had been successfully carried through. There had been, of course, hampering and untoward conditions to surmount. An occasional discordant note was struck. Mr. Carleton, who acted as accompanist when no orchestra was employed, turned out to be rather an arbitrary individual, and had caused Ruth, particularly, many a heart-ache.

Dorothy, with her winning responsiveness to an artistic temperament, felt that she had less cause to complain.

Her affair with Jim had not of late been plain sailing. She had not written to him very often or a bit regularly, and he had entered a rather arbitrary protest, so she thought, and one letter at least, that she had addressed to him had gone astray. Then Jim reached the conclusion that his letters were not appreciated, and that absence had caused an estrangement. He nursed his resentment into a cauldron of bitterness, and with the perverseness of lovers built mountains of molehills. Not but that such ephemeral erections may, and oftimes do, cast a shadow that will blot out true regard.

Without a tried and certain knowledge of her heart as concerned Jim, Dorothy had found the ever gentlemanly attentions of Mr. Dauntrey very agreeable. Ruth, on such occasions, was inclined to resentful looks and acts, of which, however, Dorothy was sublimely ignorant.

One day, journeying from Sacramento to San Francisco, it had been observed that Mr. Dauntrey and Alfy were in close consultation, an unusual event for those two to find a subject of mutual interest.

Later, in a spirit of fun, Dorothy chided her companion.

"So you have won over Mr. Dauntrey," cried Dorothy, laughing.

"Nonsense," said Alfy, but blus.h.i.+ng rosily.

"But for two hours on the train you monopolized him entirely. What did you find to talk about?"

"Well, for one thing, we were talking about you," was the defensive response.

"About me, Alfy, what could you have been saying about me?"

"I was telling him," said Alfy, hesitatingly, "about your English inheritance."

"Oh, but I wonder you did that. I asked that nothing be said about it.

For, as you know, nothing has ever come of the matter, and nothing may. The locket has never been found, and the lawyer says that there are other 'seemingly insurmountable requirements.' My, what big words.

I wonder I could string them all together."

"Well," went on Alfy, in her further defense, "he asked about you, and I couldn't see that there was any harm."

"No real harm, Alfy. And I hoped for Aunt Betty's sake that there was an inheritance a.s.sured. She is so worried about Bellevieu. The mortgages and taxes seem to eat up everything. I have given her, of course, all of my earnings, but she says things are still going badly."

"What are we to do now?" asked Alfy, seeking another subject. "Go home?"

"Mr. Ludlow has made some arrangements for Ruth to sing and for me to play here in San Francisco, at private houses of the rich. As you know, all of the others except Mr. Dauntrey, have gone east, their contracts expired."

Their conversation was interrupted, now, by Aunt Betty, who came into the room.

"Here is a much belated letter," she exclaimed, "the envelope all marked up with forwarding addresses. It must have been traveling about for quite some time."

"It's from Jim," cried Dorothy, and quickly broke the seal. The postmark the letter bore was a date fully two months back, and the first few lines were, to the recipient very pleasing ones, till she remembered that they were written before their late disagreement. But the major part of the letter bore upon a subject that concerned them all, and this she read aloud.