CHAPTER V "COME AND FIND ME"
"I'll pull some wires." The kindly face of Morrison, the man of finebindings, gleamed as he said these words to Lucile next morning. "That'sthe way things are done these days. I haven't much notion how they weredone in the past. But now, if I want anything, I pull some wires. Forinstance, your young friend whom you found in the Art Museum and whosename is Cordelia but whom you choose to call Cordie for short, wants workin this store. You ask me to pull wires and I pull 'em. I pull one andMiss So and So comes bowing out of her box of an office and I whisperwhat I want. 'I'll pull some wires,' says she, putting on her best smile.'I'll put in a wedge, a very thin wedge.'
"She puts in her thin wedge. She pulls some wires and Mr. So and So up onthe eleventh floor bobs bowing out of his box and inclines his ear tolisten.
"'Ah! Yes, I see, I see,' he murmurs. 'I shall pull some wires.'
"He pulls some wires. A slip of paper appears. It is signed. It is givento your friend. She goes here, she bobs there, and presently here she is.She has accepted 'the iron ring,' wrapping packages with very gay companyall about her, having a good time and getting pay for it. But let meassure you it could not be done without wires pulled and thin wedgesinserted. No, it could not be done. Nothing these days is done withoutwires and wedges. Wires and wedges, wedges and wires, my dear."
With this very lucid explanation of the way the world is run these days,the benevolent Morrison bowed himself away.
True to his prediction, two hours later the mysteriously silent Cordeliawas installed in an obscure corner of the book section, working at thewrapping counter. She had accepted "the iron ring," said ring being anaffair of solid iron into which, in a semi-circular bump on its edge, hadbeen set a sharp bit of steel. The theory is that the steel edge cuts thestout cord with which the bundles are tied. Truth was that more often thesharp edge cut the girls' fingers than did the steel the string. So, intime having learned wisdom, Cordie discarded this doubtful bit of jewelryand used a knife. However, she worked on steadily and quite skillfully.Before night it had become evident to all that the girl was proving acredit to her young protector, and that, take it all in all, wires hadnot been pulled nor wedges inserted in vain.
Two matters of interest came to Lucile's attention that day. A rumor wasconfirmed and a discovery made that in the end was to take someonesomewhere.
First in regard to the discovery. Someone had left a morning paper onLucile's table of books. She snatched it up and was about to consign itto the waste box when a headline caught her eye:
"COME AND FIND ME"
Beneath this was a second headline:
"Two Hundred Dollars for a Handshake."
There was not time to read what followed. Hastily tearing the corner fromthe page, she thrust this scrap into her pocket to be read later.
"The rumor's confirmed," said Laurie a moment later as he thrust aclipping from a publisher's weekly in her hand.
There were but a few lines. Lucile read them in a moment. It had to dowith the disappearance of the promising young writer, Jefrey Farnsworth,author of "Blue Flames."
"There can be no doubt," the article went on to say, "that the young manhas utterly disappeared. Being a single man with few intimates, and a manwho lived a rather secluded life, he has either slipped away withoutbeing noticed or has met with some grave mishap. His publishers aregreatly disturbed over his disappearance. Without doubting hiswillingness to assist in the task of being made famous, they had bookedhim for talks before no less than twenty women's clubs.
"As the popularity of his book, 'Blue Flames,' had grown by leaps andbounds, every woman in the country was ready to be told by him just whather son or daughter should or should not read. There was not the leastdoubt but that here was the first genuine best seller in the line sincethe first days of Treasure Island and Huckleberry Finn. Yes, the worldwas ready to hear him speak. But Farnsworth was not ready--at least hehas vanished."
"Twenty women's clubs," exclaimed Laurie, doing a feint in pantomime."Think of speaking to twenty women's clubs! Thousands and thousands ofkid-gloved, well fed, contented women! Oh! Wow! Twenty clubs, then twentymore and twenty after that! To drink tea with 'em and to have them gripyour hand and tell you how they enjoyed the rot you fed to them! Oh! Ow!Ow!"
"Women's clubs are all right," protested Lucile, her face lighting withanger. "Their work is constructive. They do a great deal of good."
"Beg a thousand pardons," said Laurie, coloring in his turn. "I didn'tmean to say they weren't. They're all right, and the ladies too, Lordbless 'em. But how does that go to prove that a poor, innocent youngwriter, who happens to have struck gold with his pen but who never made aspeech in his life, should be chained to a platform and made to do trickslike a trained bear before thousands of women? Women's clubs are allright, but they couldn't club me to death with their clubs." He threwback his shoulders to join Lucile in a laugh over his rather bad pun, andthere, for the time being the matter ended.
Lucile was destined to recall the whole affair from time to time. Hourslater, she had an opportunity to study his face unobserved. She noted hishigh forehead, his even and rugged features, his expressive hands, andwhen she saw him selling away on that stock of "Blue Flames" as if hislife depended upon it, she was led to wonder a great wonder. However, shekept this wonder to herself.
The noon hour had come before Lucile found time to again look at thescrap of printing she had torn from the discarded newspaper. In theemployees' lunch room, over a glass of milk and a sandwich, and with thewonderful Cordie sitting opposite, she read the thing through.
"Come and find me. I am the Spirit of Christmas," it ran. "I offer gold,two hundred in gold, for a shake of the hand, yet no one is so kind as togive me the clasp of cheer. I am the Spirit of Christmas. I am tall andslim, and of course I am a woman--a young woman whom some have been sokind as to call fair. To-day I dress in the garb of a working woman.Yesterday it was the coat of a sales-girl. At another time it was in moregorgeous apparel. But always my face and my hands are the same. Ah yes,my hands! There is as much to be learned from the hands as from the face.Character and many secrets are written there.
"Yesterday I walked the Boulevard, as I promised I should, yet not one ofthe rushing thousands paused to shake my hand and say: 'You are theSpirit of Christmas.' Had one done so, tho' he had been but a beggar inrags, the two hundred of gold would have clinked into his pocket. Yet notone paused. They all passed on.
"I entered a little shop to purchase a tiny bit of candy. The saleslady,a little black-eyed creature, scowled at me and refused to sell solittle, even though I looked to be a shop-girl. She did not shake myhand, and I was glad, for had she done so and had she said: 'You are theSpirit of Christmas,' the gold would have clinked for her. I left mymark, which is my sign, and passed on.
"Later I entered a busy shop, a great shop where tired girls rushed hereand there constantly. I troubled a dear little girl who had a wan smileand tender eyes, to show me many things. I bought nothing in the end, butshe was kind and courteous for all that. I wished--Oh, how I wished thatshe would grasp my hand and whisper ever so softly: 'You are the Spiritof Christmas.' But she said never a word, so the gold did not clink forher. After leaving my mark, which is also my sign, I passed on.
"To-day I shall join the throngs that shop among the windows of StateStreet. I shall enter a store here and another there. I shall pause hereto examine goods and there to make a purchase. At every place, as I passon, I shall leave my mark, which is also my sign. If you chance to seeme, if you know me, if you read my secret in my face or in my hands,grasp those hands and whisper: 'You are the Spirit of Christmas.' Thengold will clink for you, two hundred in gold.
"I am the Spirit of Christmas. Everywhere I go I leave a crimson trailbehind."
This was the end. Lucile glanced up with a dazed and puzzled look in hereyes.
"What in the world
can it mean?" she asked, holding the bit of paperbefore Cordie.
Cordie laughed. "That's something the paper is doing. I think it's justto make people buy the paper. No one has ever recognized her. She'sclever."
"I'd like to find her," mused Lucile.
"Wouldn't you, though? Who wouldn't? You'd get the gold if you did; butyou never will. She's keen. Why, only two days ago she was in this storefor a half hour. Bought a book, mind you, and you may have sold it toher. Think of that! The day before that she was in the store for sixhours. Think of that! And no one knew her. They'll never get her, trusther for that. But if they do, the gold will clink." The girl laughed amerry laugh, then hurried away for a cream-puff.
Left to herself, Lucile had time for a few moments of quiet thinking. Shefound her pulse strangely quickened by the news story and her companion'sinterpretation. Somehow, almost as if some strange power outside her werewhispering it to her, she felt forced to believe that she could connectthis new and interesting discovery with some of the other mysteries whichhad come to haunt her.
"But how?" she asked herself. "How?"
Cordie appeared to know a great deal about this "Spirit of Christmas"lady and the gold that would clink for a handshake. But after all, shehad revealed no facts that were not known to hundreds of thousands whohad followed the matter closely. It had all been in the papers.
"No, it doesn't tell me anything about Cordie," Lucile whispered,"except--" she paused suddenly. Cordie had told of things that hadhappened in the city four days back. Could she have been in the city allthis time? Probably had been. And without baggage, or so much as adream-robe. How very strange!
But had she been without baggage? Might she not owe a board bill? Mightnot her belongings be in the hands of some landlady at the present time?
"It's a wonder she doesn't tell me about herself," Lucile murmured. "It'sno use to ask her. A person who is forced to reveal her past is almostsure to tell anything but the truth. I must wait her time. It's true shehas a little money; but perhaps not enough to pay the bill.
"I wonder," she went on thoughtfully, "why I don't cut her adrift? Whyshould I be looking after her? Haven't I enough to do in looking aftermyself?"
It was true that she had her own responsibilities, but she knew rightwell that if need be she would do a great deal more for the girl beforecasting her off to become an easy prey to the human hawks and vultureswho haunt a great city.
"But this lady of the Christmas Spirit," she murmured. "The good fatessurely know I need that gold. And if this strange little beauty, Cordie,costs me something, which she promises to do, I shall need it more thanever."
Once more her eyes ran over the scrap of paper. They came to a suddenpause.
"Behind me I leave a crimson trail," she read.
For a moment her brow was wrinkled in puzzled thought. Then she gave asudden start.
"If it should be! If it meant just that!" she exclaimed half aloud.
"But then, of course it couldn't. A crimson trail--a crimson trail----"
"Here's one for you," exclaimed Cordie, setting a delicious cream-puffbefore her. "There's just time for devouring them before we go back towork. Work! Oh, boy! I say it's work! But it's heaps of fun, anyway.
"Say!" she exclaimed suddenly, "Do you know James?"
"Who is James?"
"The man who carries away the packages from my desk."
"A stooped old man."
"Not a bit of it."
"They always are."
"He's not. Take a look at him. He's a sight for tired eyes. He--he'sintriguing. I--I'm working on him. He's awful reserved, but I think helikes me. He's got a story. I'll get it. Leave that to me."
"So even little Cordie loves mysteries and has found one to study out,"thought Lucile with an amused smile as she turned to go.