The Forged Note Part 64

The other looked at her keenly and a little dubious, and then she said, with a toss of her head, as something seemed to have occurred to her when the other looked at her strangely:

"I guess you wonder _what I_ am doing down here, too."

The other started, and her lips opened to say she had not, but before she could say anything, the other continued:

"Well, I don't mind admitting what _I_ am doing down here, since I see _you_ here, also; but I have been coming down here for a long time. Yes, you see this is not the first time. I have been down here before," and she laughed a hard laugh, as she ended with another toss of her head.

Mildred stood frozen. She could not collect her shattered wits to say anything, but she was thinking. Miss Jones was a member of Wilson Jacobs' church and sang in the choir. "It can't be possible!" she murmured inaudibly. "It can't be possible!" And then, all of a sudden, she felt sorry for Miss Jones, because she had liked her, and thought her very sweet. And now she met her face to face _in the worst_ part of the city! How could this be explained! Miss Jones being encountered in the _worst part_ of the city!... And Miss Jones had, with her own lips, admitted that 'she had been there before. _She had been coming there for a long time._' "Oh, G.o.d," Mildred cried almost aloud: "This is terrible!" _Why_ did Miss Jones come to this part of town?... Miss Jones came to this part of town and _knew_ she was doing so.... Then, if that were true--which it surely was--Miss Jones was _a bad girl_.... Miss Jones a _bad girl_? She could not believe it; and yet, before she could get all this through her whirling brain, she heard Miss Jones speaking again. What was she saying? It couldn't be true! Surely Miss Jones could not mean what she was saying. Oh, horrors! If Miss Jones meant what she was saying, then, Miss Jones regarded her as a _bad girl_, too. "Miss Jones, Miss Jones!" Something in her now was crying, although her lips moved not. "Please don't, please don't! I am not that way. I am not a _bad girl_, oh, no, please, _please_!" And still her lips had not moved.

She stood like a dumb person; but she heard Miss Jones clearly:

"Let's go over here to a place _I know_," she said. "It's safe--n.o.body but a swell bunch goes there, no tramps or _talkers_."

She felt all she had heard a moment before now running through her mind, and yet she did not speak. Miss Jones was speaking again:

"We are both in the same boat; one's as _bad_ as the other. No questions asked...."

"Oh, Miss Jones," Mildred heard again, but her lips still were not moved. "How can you, oh, how can you!" Why _didn't_ she do something?

She heard herself, but words were not spoken: "Why _do_ you stand, Mildred Latham? Why do you not go--_hurry_? You have stood _too_ long now. Hurry, hurry! To Mother Jane's--to Jacobs! Yes, to anywhere; but go, go, go!" And still she stood in flesh, and made no reply.

"A swell bunch from the north, railroad fellows with plenty of coin.

Some good time, kid. Come on at once. Let's don't stand here and be looked at."

She was in a trance now. She couldn't stand there; she was aware of that. That would be worse. How to get out, she did not know, for she had now forgotten how she came in. But she had up notion of following Miss Jones. No. She would go to Mother Jane's--no, she would go to Jacobs.

Jacobs? _Who_ were they? Oh, yes. She remembered now. And when she knew the Jacobs, she had known them for _the truth_. If she went to them and told them she had just came from the----oh, no, no, no! She couldn't go to Jacobs.... But now she had it. She would go to Sidney Wyeth.... Yes, that was where she would go. He would welcome her. He would be good to her; while she--she--_would tell him everything_--yes, _everything_. Oh, she was glad she had thought of him in time. Because if she had waited a little longer, she _might not be fit_ to go to him.

They were going now, Miss Jones and she. Miss Jones was going, where?

She didn't know, but she, Mildred Latham was going to her lover, Sidney Wyeth. Oh, how she loved him--she had always loved him; but now she loved him more than ever. And she was going to him, and when she arrived, the first thing she would do, would be to get on her knees, as she did when a little girl, at her prayers. She would tell him all. All the truth from the time she was old enough to remember, until today.

Yes, she would tell _him all_. She would show him how faithfully she had worked in the sale of his book. And she would tell him how she had been driven from place to place, until she had no home nor friends; but, withal, she had remained clean. _Clean?_ Yes, that was why she had struggled so. She had fought _everything_, to keep clean.... And he, oh, he--would be happy. Oh, he would be _so_ happy. And then they would both--yes, _both_ go to the _Rosebud Country_ together. Wouldn't that be delightful? They would go to the _Rosebud Country_ together and live happily.

"Here we are," she heard Miss Jones saying. She rapped on the door in a peculiar fas.h.i.+on. Presently the door opened, but no one stood beside it or behind it. It had opened from the top of a stair, which they mounted the moment they entered. This led to somewhere, but she followed.

Now they were at the top, and paused for a brief moment; then, turning to the right, they crossed a hallway and entered a room. The door closed behind them, and it was some time before her eyes became accustomed to the darkness within. _Why_ was the room dark? She wondered; but just then it became a blaze of light. She looked all around her bewilderingly. It was a beautifully furnished room, with a soft, heavy carpet, while about the room were many heavy chairs. In the center was a table, and around the side were smaller tables. "What was this place?"

she asked herself, feeling the back of one of the heavy chairs. To one side of the room was a huge buffet with a number of gla.s.ses, all thin and of many varying sizes, artistically arranged. On the other end was a piano, with an electric cord reaching it from above. And as she stood looking at it, a light within it flashed, and it began to play a song that made the room resound.

"Hark! What was that!" she cried, with her lips closed. She saw the eyes of her companion, as her ears listened to the music. A smile, a wild smile danced in the eyes of Miss Jones. She caught Mildred suddenly about the waist, and before she was aware of it, was whirling her about in a waltz. And the tune--was the _Blue Danube_!

In the midst of the sweet old tune, the door they had entered a moment ago swung open, and two men entered. They were striking looking men and were dressed in the latest style of clothes. They were both smoking cigars, and the room was soon filled with the aroma. But they must have been good cigars, because the odor they gave off was pleasant--so Mildred thought.

Miss Jones dropped her at once and flew to one of them, who gathered her in his arms, and dreadful, before the others he kissed her. As Mildred swallowed, she turned and nestled in his embrace, and with his hands he pulled her head back until her round throat stood out beautifully, and kissed her again and again.

Mildred was shocked at such immodesty; but before she got over it, the other stood over her, smiling down into her face with eyes that danced like fire. She fell away from beneath his amorous gaze, and ran across the room and got behind a chair. She turned and looked at him wildly now. He hurried after her. His lips were pursed to say something funny, and then he saw her eyes. He stopped suddenly and fell back a step, while his smile died and his gaze, as he saw her now, grew pointed.

"Thunder!" he muttered slowly. The others disembraced themselves, and regarded them for a moment. They looked from one to the other, and then three pairs of eyes rested upon her alone. At first they were dubious, and then, as they saw the frightened look, they changed to something akin to contempt.

"Aw, kid," cried Miss Jones--and Mildred had never imagined she could be so coa.r.s.e. "'Cut' it. He's a _good_ guy, he is. A _thoroughbred_!" She looked at the man now, who appeared a trifle angry. "You're spoiling it all. He'd _like_ you; but he don't want too much of the kid play."

"These good lookers are always hard t' land," said the man. "But this trick appears the hardest." Then to her he said: "Come on kid. Look over my hurry of a moment ago. That face of yours, I must say, got me 'daffy'," and he laughed with a toss of the head.

Her tension relaxed, and she permitted herself to come from behind the chair. A moment later they were seated around the large table in the center of the room. A waiter now stood over them, with eyes askance.

"Little Sunny Brook'll do me," said one of the men. The other nodded the same; his eyes rested upon Miss Jones, who tossed her head gayly, and said:

"Aw, d.i.c.kie and Joe, I don't like it straight. Make mine a dry martini."

He attended Mildred now, while the others conversed. She did not know what to say. She had not thought of anything to drink; but in that moment she knew she would have to order something.

"A coca cola," she said quietly.

Three pair of eyes regarded her then with surprise evident. As it became clear to them, all threw their heads back and laughed loudly. The waiter stood with a little smile about the corners of his mouth, which showed he possessed a sense of humor.

Mildred was silent and looked at them in surprise. Presently, when they had quieted, Miss Jones said a little impatiently:

"You're a good one, kid. I must say so. Coca cola! ha, ha! But they don't carry coca cola at this 'joint'," whereupon they laughed again.

"Yes, ma'am," now spoke the waiter. "We carry _coca cola_, but it's used as a wash." They laughed long and earnestly.

"Bring us a quart of Sunny Brook," said the man who was nearest her.

"And--yes, bring this little girl here a coca cola--for a wash."

He lit a fresh cigar, and smiled.

"Play cards, kid?" he inquired, and looked at her. "Why don't you say something, sweetness? Gee! Has the cat got your tongue?" he complained a trifle nervously, as he flicked the ashes from the cigar.

The waiter had returned now with many gla.s.ses and bottles, and their drinks were before them. Before her was placed a small bottle of the drink she had ordered, while two gla.s.ses were arranged beside it, while a larger gla.s.s filled with ice stood beside them. The others had before them likewise, all except Miss Jones, whose drink was in a peculiar gla.s.s with a long stem, and flashed green in the electric light.

The others poured their gla.s.ses about half full, while Mildred poured a part of the fluid in one of the gla.s.ses before her. It foamed! She stopped, and when it quit foaming, the gla.s.s was only about a third full. She had not observed how much it lacked of being full, when suddenly the room resounded with the music of the electric piano. It took her so much by surprise, that she turned quickly and looked. When she saw that it was only the piano, she turned to them again, as they raised their gla.s.ses. She took up hers, at a sign from them. It was full. They all drank together.

She had a mighty effort to swallow hers. When she had succeeded, she made a wry face, and tasted the stuff gingerly. She had never drunk coca cola that tasted like that before. The others smiled naively. She felt strange. She raised her hands to her head. It felt stranger still. She wondered at such a strange feeling after a drink of something she was fond of? She had drunk as many as a half dozen bottles a day, and as many as three bottles in an hour. But three bottles had never any effect; while now, her head was whirling terribly. Everything about her swam. She saw the others smiling, and then she heard herself talking and laughing; but she was not aware of what she was saying.

It was perhaps an hour later, or it might have been only a half, but she was on the street. She was trying to walk, but apparently she was not succeeding, for the man she had run from was supporting her. He had his arm about her waist; while his free hand held both of hers. She was not talking now. She was resting. Her neck was limp. Presently they turned into another place. She did not know where. Before them raised another flight of stairs, and up this they walked--that is, he did and almost carried her. A full minute it took before they reached the top. An old woman met them. Mildred saw her for a brief moment, and recalled that she resembled the one where she had a room.

"My wife is sick," she heard the man say, "is sick. I wish to get a room."

"His wife?" she repeated, but that was all. Darkness was all about her now; but the man repeated his words, and at the same time handed the old woman a half dollar. A moment later a door closed behind them, and the next a key turned.

But Mildred Latham didn't hear it.

The old woman looked after them a moment, as she rubbed the new coin in her palm. She raised it to her lips and kissed it with a smack. She regarded the door of the room in which they had disappeared, and then she burst into a fit of laughing.

"My wife--sick--_h.e.l.l!_" And went about her duties.

CHAPTER TWELVE

_Midnight, December Thirty-first_