It seemed to her that there was in courtesy no escape without a return biographical sketch.She hung her head, twisted her tapering fingers in her lap, and looked childishly embarrassed and unhappy.Another long silence; again he broke it."You'll pardon my saying so, but--you're very young, aren't you?""Not so--so _terribly_ young.I'm almost seventeen," replied she, glancing this way and that, as if thinking of flight.
"You look like a child, yet you don't," he went on, and his frank, honest voice calmed her."You've had some painful experience, I'd say."She nodded, her eyes down.
A pause, then he: "Honest, now--aren't you--running away?"She lifted her eyes to his piteously."Please don't ask me," she said.
"I shouldn't think of it," replied he, with a gentleness in his persistence that made her feel still more like trusting him, "if it wasn't that----"Well, this world isn't the easiest sort of a place.Lots of rough stretches in the road.I've struck several and I've always been glad when somebOdy has given me a lift.And I want to pass it on--if you'll let me.It's something we owe each other--don't you think?"The words were fine enough; but it was the voice in which he said them that went to her heart.She covered her face with her hands and released her pent emotions.He took a package of tobacco and a sheaf of papers from his trousers pocket, rolled and lighted a cigarette.After a while she dried her eyes, looked at him shamefacedly.But he was all understanding and sympathy.
"Now you feel better, don't you?"
"Much," said she.And she laughed."I guess I'm more upset than I let myself realize.""Sorry you left home?"
"I haven't any home," answered she simply."And I wouldn't go back alive to the place I came from."There was a quality in the energy she put into her words that made him thoughtful.He counseled with the end of his cigarette.
Finally he inquired:
"Where are you bound for?"
"I don't know exactly," confessed she, as if it were a small matter.
He shook his head."I see you haven't the faintest notion what you're up against.""Oh, I'll get along.I'm strong, and I can learn."He looked at her critically and rather sadly.
"Yes--you are strong," said he."But I wonder if you're strong enough.""I never was sick in my life."
"I don't mean that....I'm not sure I know just what I do mean.""Is it very hard to get to Chicago?" inquired she.
"It's easier to get to Cincinnati."
She shook her head positively."It wouldn't do for me to go there.""Oh, you come from Cincinnati?"
"No--but I--I've been there."
"Oh, they caught you and brought you back?"
She nodded.This young man must be very smart to understand so quickly.
"How much money have you got?" he asked abruptly.
But his fear that she would think him impertinent came of an underestimate of her innocence."I haven't got any," replied she."I forgot my purse.It had thirty dollars in it."At once he recognized the absolute child; only utter inexperience of the world could speak of so small a sum so respectfully."I don't understand at all," said he."How long have you been here?""All day.I got here early this morning."
"And you haven't had anything to eat!"
"Oh, yes! I found some eggs.I've got two left."Two eggs--and no money and no friends--and a woman.Yet she was facing the future hopefully! He smiled, with tears in his eyes.
"You mustn't tell anybody you saw me," she went on."No matter what they say, don't think you ought to tell on me."He looked at her, she at him.When he had satisfied himself he smiled most reassuringly."I'll not," was his answer, and now she _knew_ she could trust him.
She drew a breath of relief, and went on as if talking with an old friend."I've got to get a long ways from here.As soon as it's dark I'm going.""Where?"
"Toward the river." And her eyes lit.
"The river? What's there?"
"I don't know," said she triumphantly.
But he understood.He had the spirit of adventure himself--one could see it at a glance--the spirit that instinctively shuns yesterday and all its works and wings eagerly into tomorrow, unknown, different, new--therefore better.But this girl, this child-woman--or was she rather woman-child?--penniless, with nothing but two eggs between her and starvation, alone, without plans, without experience--What would become of her?..."Aren't you--afraid?" he asked.
"Of what?" she inquired calmly.
It was the mere unconscious audacity of ignorance, yet he saw in her now--not fancied he saw, but saw--a certain strength of soul, both courage and tenacity.No, she might suffer, sink--but she would die fighting, and she would not be afraid.And he admired and envied her.
"Oh, I'll get along somehow," she assured him in the same self-reliant tone.Suddenly she felt it would no longer give her the horrors to speak of what she had been through."I'm not very old," said she, and hers was the face of a woman now."But I've learned a great deal.""You are sure you are not making a mistake in--in--running away?""I couldn't do anything else," replied she."I'm all alone in the world.There's no one--except----"I hadn't done anything, and they said I had disgraced them--and they----" Her voice faltered, her eyes sank, the color flooded into her face."They gave me to a man--and he--I had hardly seen him before--he----" She tried but could not pronounce the dreadful word.
"Married, you mean?" said the young man gently.
The girl shuddered."Yes," she answered."And I ran away."So strange, so startling, so moving was the expression of her face that he could not speak for a moment.A chill crept over him as he watched her wide eyes gazing into vacancy.What vision of horror was she seeing, he wondered.To rouse her he spoke the first words he could assemble:
"When was this?"
The vision seemed slowly to fade and she looked at him in astonishment."Why, it was last night!" she said, as if dazed by the discovery."Only last night!""Last night! Then you haven't got far."
