The Girl from Sunset Ranch: or, Alone in a Great City. Marlowe Amy Bell

Old Jacob will give me fits.”

      “Oh, dear! and I’m keeping you,” cried Helen.

      “I should worry!” exploded the other, slangily. “I’m only a ‘puller-in.’ I ain’t a saleslady. Come on and I’ll throw a scare into that taxi-driver. Watch me.”

      This sort of girl was a revelation to Helen. She was frankly independent herself; but Sadie Goronsky showed an entirely different sort of independence.

      “See here you, Mr. Man!” exclaimed the Jewish girl, attracting the attention of the taxicab driver, who had not left his seat. “Whadderyer mean by bringing this young lady down here to Madison Street when with half an eye you could ha’ told that she belonged on Madison Avenyer?”

      “Heh?” grunted the man.

      “Now, don’t play no greenie trick with me,” commanded Sadie. “I gotcher number, and I know the company youse woik for. You take this young lady right to the correct address on the avenyer – and see that she don’t get robbed before you get her there. You get in, Miss Morrell. Don’t you be afraid. This chap won’t dare take you anywhere but to your uncle’s house now.”

      “She said Madison Street,” declared the taxicab driver, doggedly.

      “Well, now I says Madison Avenyer!” exclaimed Sadie. “Get in, Miss.”

      “But where’ll I find you, Sadie?” asked the Western girl, holding the rough hand of her new friend.

      “Right at that shop yonder,” said the black-eyed girl, pointing to a store only two doors beyond the house which Helen had entered. “Ladies’ garments. You’ll see me pullin’ ’em in. If you don’t see me, ask for Miss Goronsky. Good-night, Miss! You’ll get to your uncle’s all right now.”

      The taxicab driver had started the machine again. They darted off through a side street, and soon came out upon the broader thoroughfare down which they had come so swiftly. She saw by a street sign that it was the Bowery.

      The man slowed down and spoke to her through the tube.

      “I hope you don’t bear no ill-will, Miss,” he said, humbly enough. “You said Madison – ”

      “All right. See if you can take me to the right place now,” returned Helen, brusquely.

      Her talk with Sadie Goronsky had given her more confidence. She was awake to the wiles of the city now. Dud Stone had been right. Even Big Hen Billings’s warnings were well placed. A stranger like herself had to be on the lookout all the time.

      After a time the taxicab turned up a wider thoroughfare that had no elevated trains roaring overhead. At Twenty-third Street it turned west and then north again at Madison Square.

      There was a little haze in the air – an October haze. Through this the lamps twinkled blithely. There were people on the dusky benches, and many on the walks strolling to and fro, although it was now growing quite late.

      In the park she caught a glimpse of water in a fountain, splashing high, then low, with a rainbow in it. Altogether it was a beautiful sight.

      The hum of night traffic – the murmur of voices – they flashed past a theatre just sending forth its audience – and all the subdued sights and sounds of the city delighted her again.

      Suddenly the taxicab stopped.

      “This is the number, Miss,” said the driver.

      Helen looked out first. Not much like the same number on Madison Street!

      This block was a slice of old-fashioned New York. On either side was a row of handsome, plain old houses, a few with lanterns at their steps, and some with windows on several floors brilliantly lighted.

      There were carriages and automobiles waiting at these doors. Evening parties were evidently in progress.

      The house before which the taxicab had stopped showed no light in front, however, except at the door and in one or two of the basement windows.

      “Is this the place you want?” asked the driver, with some impatience.

      “I’ll see,” said Helen, and hopped out of the cab.

      She ran boldly up the steps and rang the bell. In a minute the inner door swung open; but the outer grating remained locked. A man in livery stood in the opening.

      “What did you wish, ma’am?” he asked in a perfectly placid voice.

      “Does Mr. Willets Starkweather reside here?” asked Helen.

      “Mr. Starkweather is not at home, ma’am.”

      “Oh! then he could not have received my telegram!” gasped Helen.