The Poor Little Rich Girl | Page 7

parted to reply. But no words came.
"You don't know," said Jane. "But I'll tell you something: There ain't no bars on the windows where poor little girls live. For the simple reason that nobody wants to steal them."
Gwendolyn considered the statement, her fingers still busy knotting and unknotting.
"I tell you," Jane launched forth again, "that if you run about on the street, like poor children do, you'll be grabbed up by a band of kidnapers."
"Are--are kidnapers worse than doctors?" asked Gwendolyn.
"Worse than doctors!" scoffed Thomas, "Heaps worse."
"Worse than--than bears?" (The last trace of that rebellious red was gone.)
Up and down went Jane's head solemnly. "Kidnapers carry knives--big curved knives."
Now Gwendolyn recalled a certain terror-inspiring man with a long belted coat and a cap with a shiny visor. It was not his height that made her fear him, for her father was fully as tall; and it was not his brass-buttoned coat, or the dark, piercing eyes under the visor. She feared him because Jane had often threatened her with his coming; and, secondly, because he wore, hanging from his belt, a cudgel--long and heavy and thick. How that cudgel glistened in the sunlight as it swung to and fro by a thong!
"Worse than a--a p'liceman?" she faltered.
"Policeman? _Yes!_"
"Than the p'liceman that's--that's always hanging around here?"
Now Jane giggled, and blushed as red as her hair. "Hush!" she chided.
Thomas poked a teasing finger at her. "Haw! Haw!" he laughed. "There's other people that's noticed a policeman hangin' round. _He's_ a dandy, he is!--not. He let that old hand organ man give him a black eye."
"Pooh!" retorted Jane. "You know how much I care about that policeman! It's only that I like to have him handy for just such times as this."
But Gwendolyn was dwelling on the newly discovered scourge of moneyed children. "What would the kidnapers do?" she inquired.
"The kidnapers," promptly answered Jane, "would take you and shut you up in a nasty cellar, where there was rats and mice and things and--"
Gwendolyn's mouth began to quiver.
Hastily Jane put out a hand. "But we'll look sharp that nothin' of the kind happens," she declared stoutly; "for who can git you when you're in the car--especially when Thomas is along to watch out. So"--with a great show of enthusiasm--"we'll go out, oh! for a grand ride." She rose. "And maybe when we git into the country a ways, we'll invite Thomas to take the inside seat opposite," (another wink) "and he'll tell you about soldierin' in India, and camps, and marches, and shootin' elephants."
"Aren't there kidnapers in the country, too?" asked Gwendolyn. "I--I guess I'd rather stay home."
"You won't see 'em in the country this time of day," explained Jane. "They're all in town, huntin' rich little children. So on with the sweet new hat and a pretty coat!" She opened the door of the wardrobe.
Gwendolyn did not move. But as she watched Jane the gray eyes filled with tears, which overflowed and trickled slowly down her cheeks. "If--if Thomas walked along with us," she began, "could--could anybody steal me then?"
Jane was taking out coat, hat and gloves. "What would kidnapers care about _Thomas?_" she demanded contemptuously. "Sure, they'd steal you, and then they'd say to your father, 'Give! me a million dollars in cash if you want Miss Gwendolyn back.' And if your father didn't give the money on the spot, you'd be sold to gipsies, or--or Chinamen."
But Gwendolyn persisted. "Thomas has killed el'phunts," she reminded. "Are--are kidnapers worse than el'phunts?" She drew on her gloves.
Jane sat down and held out the coat. It was of velvet. "Now be still!" she commanded roughly. "You'll go in the machine if you go at all. Do you hear that?"--giving Gwendolyn a half-turn-about that nearly upset her. "Do you think I'm goin' to trapse over the hard pavements on my poor, tired feet just because you take your notions?"
Gwendolyn began to cry--softly. "Oh, I--I thought I wouldn't ever have to ride again wh-when I was seven," she faltered, putting one white-gloved hand to her eyes.
"Stop that!" commanded Jane, again, "Dirtyin' your gloves, you wasteful little thing!"
Now the big sobs came. Down went the yellow head.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" said Thomas. "Little ladies never cry."
"Walk! walk! walk!" scolded Jane, kneeling, and preparing to adjust the new hat.
The hat had wide ribbons that tied under the chin--new, stiff ribbons.
"Johnnie Bu-Blake didn't fasten his hat on like this," wept Gwendolyn. She moved her chin from side to side. "He just had a--a sh-shoe-string."
Jane had finished. "Johnnie Blake! Johnnie Blake! Johnnie Blake!" she mocked. She gave Gwendolyn a little push toward the front window. "Now, no more of your nonsense. Go and be quiet for a few minutes. And keep a' eye out, will you, to see that there's nobody layin' in wait for us out in front?"
Gwendolyn went forward