Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 March 1907 — WHEN ELSIE WAS LOST. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WHEN ELSIE WAS LOST.

By Morris Cooke.

“Is there room?” Elsie looked apprehensively at the crowded car. “Easy,” laughed Taylor. “Here in New York we don’t call a ear crowded until there are people sitting on the roof. He helped her aboard the platform and stepped aside to let two other women on, swinging himself on to the step just as the car started. Elsie looked back nervously at Taylor and called waruingly, “Do uot get lost, Toni.” He waved reassurance, and then some one in leaving forced her to step well into the car. This prevented her from knowing that Taylor had dropped off tlie car step to let some passengers alight and that the conductor had given the go ahead signal before he could swing himself back on again. Two other men regained the step, but Taylor was left in the street saying things about the traction company and all Its employees.

All unconscious Elsie rode until the end of the run was neared, and the crowd thinned out before she was able to see that Tom was not on the car. She beckoned tlie conductor. “There was a gentleman on the rear platform," she said. “Lots of ’em,” agreed the conductor. “But this one had a blue tie nnd a derby hat. Do you remember where he got off?” “I’m not here to look after men In blue ties,” he said crossly. A crowded run is not conducive to politeuess. “Where do you want to get off?” “That’s just the trouble,” she explained. “You see, my aunt moved this morning. There was a fire in the apartment house in which they lived, and they had to change. It’s uptown somewhere, but my cousin did not have time to tell me just where, ne had /just met me at tlie train.” “Better go over to the police station,” !he counseled. “Your folks will send j out a general alarm probably, and then | word will come to the station. Maybe there’s some one where they used to live that can tell you.” “That’s so,” she said, brightening. “It’s on Central Park West.” She named a number, and the conductor rang the bell. “Take a downtown car to One Hundred aud Twenty-

fifth street,” he said. “Transfer south on Eighth avenue. That’s in the sixties somewhere.” Elsie dropped off the car with a word of thanks and hailed a car coming In the opposite direction. Not until the conductor stood In front of her did she realize that she had given Tom her hand Batchel containing her pocketbook. This conductor was less pleasant than the first one and refused to accept her story. There was no one else In the car, and with crimson face she alighted. She did not know how far It was, but she had a general Idea of the direction, and she started bravely out. The wind blew coldly from the river, and she drew her coat about her aa she plodded along. Six block's and the lamp post told her that One Hundred and Twenty-fifth street had been reached. She paused undecidedly; them with sudden determination, sho hailed a passerby. “Eighth avenue?” he repeated. “Keep going. It’s the street with the elevated on. You can’t—ls this Elsie Linton?” he broke off. “Will!” sho cried In sudden recognition. “I did not know you with that mustache on. And you’re older too.’’ “I ought to be,” he said grimly, "between having to get out and hustle and losing the girl I loved.”

“I suppose you have made up botik losses,” she said. “Only the first,” he corrected. “I’ve Just this minute fojund the girl I love. But what are you doing here alone?” he demanded. “Been visiting and got lost?” Rapidly she explained the situation, and his brow clouded. “The Bellevue burned last night," he said. “Pretty well gutted. There may be a caretaker who will know where your aunt went. Let’s go over nnd see.” He whisked her pn board the car, and she settled back, with a sigh of relief. It was so comfortable to be taken care of again, and there was a new briskness in Will Beuton’s manner that brought comfort. When the Benton Milling company 'had tailed he was an Idle and none too re( ten! fellow. Now he spoke and ; 'cl wit It decision, and she was sorry that ah-.* had said “No” when he had p::t the.all imponant'question to her. ' - arrival at the transfer point in- • - i .y dream.' and as they «•' ■ . I • <'t • Hi hth avenue car ho • ... '.ive. lie sketched fer it ; i < ;...* his Struggles, a 1: :c o * of hi i ss, .- I • ice to which her own mind added- tlie embellishments, nnil almost before she knew It he was signaling the conductor. The Bellevue stood a smoke stained and gaunt wreck of what had lieen a fashionable apartment house, aud a fire patrolman in the lobby was the only sign of life. “They didn’t leave no address,” he laughed. “They were in too much of a hurry when they left. Only the doctor thought of that. The others just went to the hotels or to friends. The furniture Is all here. They had Insurance, and they can’t move It until the adjusters get through. Try the postoffice.” The substation gave no better result. The carrier declared that he would not be permitted to give an address, but admitted that as yet he had received no instructions for forwarding mall. At the police station the desk sergeant telephoned headquarters, but no alarm had been registered yet. “Maybe It will come In,” he counseled. “Why don’t you go and get dinner and come hack? I may have something for you then.”

“That’s so," laughed Benton. “You must lie pretty hungry after all this walking. Let's go down to the circle and have something to eat. It will do us both good.” Across the table Elsie’s depression vanished. Will kept chatting of everything except her portion, and it seemed like old times back home when a party of young people ran up to town for the theater and had supper afterward. It was not until the coffee was readied that he became serious again. “What shall we do,” he asked, “In case the alarm has not been sent oat? I think you had better go to a hotel, wire your mother and wait for her answer. There’s a hotel up the street here. I know the proprietor, and he will see that you are well looked after.** “It will be so lonesome,” she said, with a little shudder. “It Is the first time thnt I have ever been In New York, and It is all so strange.” “I used to live down In this section of the town.” he said. “There is a minister I know—l don't want to seem to take advantage of your plight to repeat my proposal, dear, but—l Bhould be tha happiest man in New York If you would say ‘Yes.’” For answer her hand stole across tha table and clasped his. “You are sura It is love and not pity?” she asked. “It has always been love,” he said. “I never accepted your decision, and It lias helped to make a man of me.” “Let us go," she said simply. But Benton understood. Half an hour later they emerged from I the quiet rectory. $■ “Shall we stop at the station?” laughed Will. “Auntie might be worried,” she saidAnd they turned their steps toward tha green lights. The desk sergeant smiled as they approached. ‘‘They’re waiting for you Just around the corner,'* he said, naming an apartment hotel. "They were In here Just after you left. I told them you wer* coming back. Miss Linton, Isn’t it?" "No,” said Will proudly, “Mrs. William Benton now.” And ns they descended the steps Elsie hugged his arm. “I wish,” she said, “we could find that conductor that found yon for me. Will.” “It’s not every conductor," he laughed back, “who puts a girl off a street car Into matrimony, bless his heart!”

“THEY DIDN’T LEAVE NO ADDRESS,” HIS LAUOHED.