A Good Samaritan | Page 5

girl on that.
Will there be a chaperone with her?"
"No!" thundered Billy.
"How is a girl allowed to go to the theater with you without a
chaperone?" inquired Rex incredulously. "This is New York."
Strong brought down his fist. "Death to chaperones! A bas les
chaperones! Don't you think girl's mother trust her to me? Look at me!
I'll be chaperone to tha' girl, and father, 'n' mother, 'n' a few uncles and
aunts." He threw his arm out with a gesture which comprised the
universe. "I'll be all the world to tha' girl. You go meet her 'n' tell her
you got me drunk," he concluded with a radiant smile.
Rex considered. There seemed to be enough method in Strong's
madness to justify the belief that he had an engagement. If so, he must
by all means wait and trust to luck to pick out the "lovely blue-eyed
girlie" who was the "party of the other part," and hope for an
inspiration as to what to tell her. She might be with or without a
chaperone, she might be any variety of the species, but Strong seemed
to be quite clear that she had blue eyes.
The crowd from the incoming boat began to unload into the ferry-house,
and Rex placed himself anxiously by the entrance. Three or four thin
men scurried in advance, then a bunch of stout and middle-aged
persons straggled along puffing. Then came a set of young people in
theater array, chattering and laughing as they hurried, and another set,
and another--the main body of the little army was upon him. Rex
scanned them for a girl alone or a girl with her mother. Ah! here she
was--this must be Strong's "blue-eyed girlie." She was alone and pretty,
a little under-bred and blond. Rex lifted his hat.
"I beg your pardon," he said, in his most winning way; "are you waiting

for Mr. Strong?"
The girl threw up her head and looked frightened, and then angry.
"No, I am not," she said, and then, with a haughty look, "I call you
pretty saucy," and Rex was left mortified and silent, while a passing
man murmured, "Served you right," and a woman laughed scornfully.
He stalked across to the tranquil form on the truck.
"Billy," he said, and shook a massive shoulder. "Wake up. Tell me that
girl's name."
Strong opened his eyes like a baby waked from dewy sleep. "Wha's that,
Recky--dear old Recky--bes' fren'----"
"Cut that out," said Rex, sharply. "Tell me the name of the girl you're
waiting here to meet," and he laughed a short bitter laugh. The girl
whom "Billy" was waiting to meet! Rex was getting tired and hungry.
Strong smiled a gentle, obstinate, tipsy smile and shook his head. "No,
Recky, dear ol' fren'--bes' fren'--well, nev' min'. Can't tell girl's name;
tha's her secret."
"Don't be an ass, Billy--quick, now, tell me the name."
"Naughty, naughty!" quoted Billy again, and waggled his forefinger.
"Danger hell fire! Couldn' tell girl's name, Recky--be dishon'able.
Couldn', no, couldn'. Anythin' else--ask m' anythin' else in all these
wide worlds"--and he struck his breast with fervor. "Tell you anythin',
Recky, but couldn' betray trustin' girl's secret."
"Billy, can't you give me an idea what the girl's like?" pleaded Rex
desperately. Billy smiled up at him drowsily. "Perfectly good girl," he
elucidated. "Good eyes, good wind, kind to mother--perfectly good girl
in ev--every r-respect," he concluded, emphasizing his sentences by
articulating them. He dropped his chin into his chest with a recumbent
bow, and his arm described an impressive semicircle. "Present to her
'surances my most disting'shed consider-ration--soon's you find her,"

and he went flop on his side and was asleep.
Rex had to give it up. He heard the gates rattling open for the next
boat-load, and took his stand again, bracing himself for another rebuff.
The usual vanguard, the usual quicksilver bunch of humanity, massing,
separating, flowing this way and that, and in the midst of them a
fair-haired, timid-looking young girl, walking quietly with down-cast
eyes, as if unused to being in big New York alone at eight o'clock at
night. Rex stood in front of her with bared head.
"I beg your pardon," he repeated his formula; "are you looking for Mr.
Strong?"
The startled eyes lifted to his a short second, then dropped again. "No,
for Mr. Week," she answered softly, and unconscious of witticism,
melted into the throng.
This was a heavy boat-load, for it was just theater time--they were still
coming. And suddenly his heart bounded and stopped. Of course--he
was utterly foolish not to have known--it was she--Billy Strong's
bewitching cousin, the girl from Orange. There she stood with her big,
brown eyes searching, gazing here and there, as lovely, as incongruous
as a wood-nymph strayed into a