Dorothy Dale (A Girl of To-Day) | Page 7

man worked without further
conversation. Dorothy bent earnestly over her story, while Ralph was
busy with the type, setting up the last item of news that would go in the
week's issue of the Bugle.
Suddenly something like a scream aroused them.
"What was that?" asked Dorothy, but without waiting to answer Ralph
hurried to the door. At that moment Tavia staggered into the office. Her
hat was off and her face was very white.
"Oh, what is it, Tavia dear?" Dorothy cried. "What has happened?"
"I'm so--so frightened," gasped the girl. "Lock the door--that--that
man--he may come in! He is in the hall."
Ralph was out in the hall instantly. The girls, clasped in each other's
arms, could hear him running down the stairs.
"Oh, he is so rough and strong--he may hurt Ralph," whispered Tavia,
too frightened to trust her own voice.
It seemed a long time to the girls, but Ralph was back in the room with
them in a very few minutes.
"There was no one in the hall," he said, "and I looked up and down the

street. No one--no stranger seemed to be in sight."
"Well, I was just coming up the stairs, and I couldn't see from the sun,
when some one grabbed me," Tavia explained.
"Oh, Tavia!" interrupted Dorothy.
"Yes, indeed, a great big horrid man, with a hat over his eyes, and oh,
he was dreadful!" and poor Tavia began to tremble again.
Ralph had his coat on now. That man should not get away!
"But you can't leave us," begged the girls. "He might break the door
in."
"Then come down stairs and we will lock up. I must telephone to
Squire Sanders."
"He isn't home," Tavia declared. "I saw him drive out as I went up
William Street."
But Ralph insisted on giving the alarm.
"What did he say to you?" he asked.
"Why, he must have thought I was Dorothy. I saw him first just as I
turned out of the Douglass' place, and he followed me all the way. At
the lane--where it was really lonely--he called to me and I stopped. He
said 'Where are you going?' I told him to the Bugle office. I didn't think
anything of it. I am never afraid. Then he got nearer to me--"
"Why didn't you run?" asked Dorothy.
"Why, I never thought of such a thing. I thought maybe he was coming
here with some news. Even when he started up the dark stairs after me I
wasn't afraid. But when he grabbed me--"
"Oh!" screamed Dorothy.

"Yes, and he said: 'See here, Miss Dale, if you put one line in print
about that old woman being dead--I'll blow the place up.'"
"He must be a crank," said Ralph. "Such people always drift into
newspaper offices."
"Oh, no, I am sure he meant it, for he grabbed my notes. He saw me
reading them in the lane," Tavia paused an instant. "And really, poor
Mrs. Douglass was a good woman. The servant girl told me how she
had worked for that Miles Burlock,--she had some special interest in
him,-- and you know how he drinks."
Unfortunately every one in Dalton knew only too well how Miles
Burlock drank. Ralph had often helped him home, and then tried to get
the man to talk of reformation, but it seemed like a hopeless case.
"Why should that strange man want the paper to keep quiet about Mrs.
Douglass?" asked Dorothy.
"Something about Burlock, perhaps," Ralph answered, thoughtfully.
"This man may be in with the drinking class, and perhaps if Burlock
read anything or heard it, somehow he might go to the Douglass house,
and they say Death is a great teacher. I know Mrs. Douglass often
befriended Burlock."
"Then let him blow the office up!" cried Dorothy, with sudden courage.
"Father never listened to threats! Tavia, can you remember some of the
important facts? Quiet yourself and think it over."

CHAPTER III
A STRANGE ADVENTURE
Joe Dale was a credit to the family. Although only a boy in his tenth
year, he possessed as much manliness as many another well in the teens.
He was tall, and of the dark type, while Dorothy was not quite so tall,
and had fair hair; so that, in spite of the difference of their ages, Joe

was often considered Dorothy's big brother. Roger was just a pretty
baby, so plump and with such golden curls! Dorothy had pleaded not to
have them cut until his next birthday, but the boys, of course, thought
seven years very old for long hair.
"Only for a few months more," the sister had coaxed, and, so the curls
were kept. Dorothy always arranged them herself, telling fairy stories
to conceal the time consumed in making the ringlets.
Both boys