CHAPTER III.

THE SEARCH FOR EMPLOYMENT.

There was no difficulty whatever in finding a couple of furnished rooms, and Marion and Dollie were soon located with Miss Allyn for a neighbor.

“It’s lots more fun than boarding,” said Dollie, enthusiastically, as she made coffee and toast for their breakfast the first morning.

“If we only had work we would be perfectly happy here,” answered Marion, “and who knows what a day may bring forth, little sister? I may come home to-night with a good position in my pocket.”

“It wouldn’t be a very big one if you could get it in your pocket,” laughed Dollie, and then a sudden thought made her stare silently at her sister.

“Well, what’s wrong with me, Dollie? Isn’t my hat on straight?” asked Marion.

“I was thinking,” was Dollie’s answer in a very low tone. “Wouldn’t it be better if you were to wear the dress that Miss Ray gave you, Marion? You wouldn’t look so—so green, and perhaps some one would employ you.”

Marion burst out laughing at Dollie’s frank description, but she shook her head at the wise proposition.

“No, Dollie, they must employ me just as I am,” she said decidedly, “and, besides, dear, I should hate to wear the dress again. It would remind me of the first night I spent in New York when that villain Emile Vorse sent me to the wrong address and I was only saved from a monster by that dear, dear woman.”

“What became of Vorse?” asked Dollie, absently.

“He eluded the police and made his escape,” said Marion, sadly. “It’s a pity, for he was an awful creature. But the other, Miss Ray’s deceiver, is safely in jail. He was intoxicated and unconscious in his apartments when the detectives found him.”

“Poor Miss Ray,” sighed Dollie, “her lot is worse, by far, than mine. That man must have been a fiend, just like Mr. Lawson.”

“Hush! Don’t speak that name. You know we promised, Dollie. Neither the name Carlos Lawson, nor his alias, Professor Dabroski, must rest on our lips any oftener than is necessary. But Dollie, now I remember it, Bert Jackson is coming to see us. I met him yesterday on Broadway, and told him where we were. You must write him at once, dear, and tell him our new address.”

“Poor Bert, he has had a hard row, too,” sighed Dollie, “but I guess he’s safe now, for he’s secured a fairly good position in that office. Oh, I wish every boy at the Poor Farm could be as lucky.”

“So do I,” said Marion, her eyes filling with tears. “Those poor boys! I am almost home-sick, Dollie, whenever I think of them.”

“I would like to go home, too,” said Dollie, sadly. “I’d like to see mother, and Samantha, and the chickens, but, oh, I would dread to see father or Silas Johnson.”

“Well we won’t go back to the country at present,” said Marion, firmly, “not until we are convinced that there is no place for us in the city.”

“I shall go out this afternoon,” called Dollie, as Marion tripped down the stairs. “I saw an advertisement in the paper that I am going to answer.”

“Be careful, Dollie,” was her sister’s reply, “and don’t forget to wear a veil, dear. That pretty face of yours is a great temptation to wicked men.”

Dollie went back into their room just as Miss Allyn came through the hall.

“There’ll be a typewriter here for you to-day,” she said glibly. “I ordered it sent. I want you to learn to operate it.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Dollie, clapping her hands. “I’ve heard of them so often. I shall be delighted to see one.”

“Well, I’ll teach you to use it in off hours,” said Miss Allyn, kindly. “There’s no harm in learning, and it may come in handy.”

She was in a hurry to go out to fill an engagement for her paper, so Dollie did not detain her, but busied herself in tidying up the room, and then wrote the letter to Bert Jackson.

When the letter was ready, she put on her hat and gloves and started out to look for work, carrying the advertisement that she had clipped from the paper in order not to forget the address given.

She read it over as she walked along. It sounded very alluring to her unsuspicious ears, and she smiled a little at her cleverness in not showing it to Marion.

“What a surprise it will be to her if I get it,” she whispered. Then once more she took out the clipping and read it over.

“Wanted—Twenty young ladies with musical ability. Must be over sixteen and have graceful figures. Room 1019, Dusenbury Building.”

“I am sure my figure is graceful enough,” she said. “Of course, I never did wear corsets, but I suppose I could. I expect they would make my waist a little smaller.”

She put her hands on her hips as she walked along. She was a trifle more plump than the girls she had seen about the city. After considerable trouble she found the Dusenbury Building. It was a grim-looking structure, and a regular sky-scraper.

Dollie was rushed up to the top floor at such speed that it made her head swim a little. She had not begun to get used to the velocity exhibited by an ambitious elevator.

She wandered around the halls for some little time before she finally discovered a door with the number 1019 on it.

She tapped on the door gently, but there was no response except a giggle or two from some one within, so summoning her courage she pushed it open. There were a dozen young ladies in the room, apparently waiting for some one.

“Come right in, don’t be bashful,” cried one frowsy-headed girl. “His job-lots is passing on a strawberry blonde. He’ll be out in a minute. They are in the private office.”

The other girls all tittered as Dollie smiled pleasantly. She sat down on the edge of a chair, with her heart beating wildly.

“What do you suppose his game is, anyway?” asked one of the girls in a low voice.

“Is it straight, do you think, or just another case of flim-flam?”

“Give it up,” was the answer from the girl addressed. “Wait ’til blondie comes out. I hope it’s straight, tho’.”

She sighed as she spoke and Dollie glanced at her quickly. She was pale and thin, and there was a hectic flush on her hollow cheeks. There was no shadow of doubt that she was a victim of consumption.

Just then one of the girls who was sitting near the door to the private office, gave a little scream.

“What do you think of that, girls! He’s got another door. We won’t so much as get a squint at blondie.”

“That settles it, we’ve got to go in and face the music,” said the consumptive, “and if he insults us, we must smile and put up with it, of course. If we yell, he’ll call in an officer and have us arrested for blackmail.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before the private door opened, and a flashily-dressed man of about fifty years came out, twirling the ends of an enormous mustache.

There was not a sound from the girls as he looked them over, although they each posed involuntarily and tried to look attractive.

Suddenly his eye fell on Dollie, and he stared in amazement. The girl’s fresh beauty astonished him, it was so entirely unexpected.

“Ahem! You will please step this way,” he said to her at once, at the same time indicating by a wave of his hand that she was to enter his private office.

“I was here first,” said one of the girls, shrilly.

“I’ve been here an hour,” said another, wearily.

“I will attend to you all in a few moments,” said the man, pompously, as he stepped into the office behind Dollie and closed the door after them.