OUR SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, 11 February 1928, Page 23

OUR SERIAL STORY

“LOVE’S STOWAWAY”

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JOHN L. CARTER

„4U Rights Restrcta

Now there is no one knows better than your keen New I’ork business man the advantage of having employees who speak English in the natural, cultivated, English way, instead of the nasal drawl of the born American. Add to this fact that Molly was remarkably good-look-ing, and we have the explanation for the manager not “firing” her instantly. “Can you speak French and German?” he demanded.

“Oh, very fluently,” exclaimed Molly with conviction. She was an excellent linguist.

“You won’t do just as you are, I reckon,” remarked the man grimly. “You’re raw. Still, I might find use for you as an assistant.”

Molly clasped her shapely little hands Jigbtly.

“Oh, thank your sir!” she exclaimed. She was ready to cry for joy. But it was still too wonderful to be believed. “Where is your home?” he demanded next.

Molly coloured at that. He noticed that she hesitated.

“Well, the fact is, I haven't one,” she

“Come now, you must sleep somewhere?” he protested. “MoHy felt that it would never do to Jet him know that she bad lived in Fifth Avenue until that afternoon. “I only just recently arrived from England,” she said. The man gave a little start. She eom.i tell from the subtle change in his manner that she need hope no more. “Sorry! Itook it for granted that you knew the streets and hotels and places of interest in New York. And there’s lots of other things our information clerks have to know—steamship and railroad matters. Sorry, but I’m afraid you won’t do.” Tears sprang to Molly’s eyes, in spite of herself. She had no hope left. Her disappointment was terrible. She rose and turned to go. “Wait a moment. I guess you are a st ranger over this side?” he queried. The troth was that he was curious about her. He wanted to know why such a pretty, refined English girl bad come over to New York to look for work. “I have no friends,” she said truthfully.

“Couldn't vou have found work more easily in England?” “I never thought of it,” ' she said ■imply. She did not resent his questions. She was almost grateful to Pud someone who took the slightest interest in her.

"You came over her oi> a visit! he queried. “WeH. my advice is, get away back to England before your money runs out. New York is no place for a young girl without money.” Molly asked herself what use th,ire was fa prolonging the agony. I "I would go h a-k. only I haven’t the jncney.” she said, '‘Over there I .■mild

ge x a poet as courier very easily.” “But if you haven’t any. money you can’t get back,” said Rogers musingly. “Say—look here —give me your address ai-d I’ll see if something can’t be done. I happen to know a large narty Of folk who are going over to Europe .presently. They will want a courier, and your know German as well as French would be greatly appreciated. “When will that be!” queried Molly. “In about three week’s time,” he said. Molly shook her head. “I must .get work before then,” she said.

“Haven’t you any friends over here!” he asked. She shook her head.

“You could go to one of the homes for friendless girls,” he suggested. “Very decent places, I’m told —just till you got turned round.”

Molly jumped at the idea for one moment. Then her face fell agin. “But they don’t take you in if you’ve got wealthy relations!” she queried. He shook her head. “Of course not. They only help das-' titute girls.” “It would be no use, then,” she assured him.

“That’s better!” he said, greatly relieved. “I didn’t think you had relatives who could help you. But I will tell you what I’ll do, I’ll pay for a cable over to T# our people, and lend you a little money until they can cable a remittance.”

“It’s very good of you,” she cried, contrasting the kindness of this stranger, who looked such a hard, matter-of-fact business man, with the ruthless attitude of her uncle. “But I have no relations in England. And the only person who could help me is my uncle who lives over here in Fifth Avenue. And I won’t take a cent from him.”

"Good lord, child! This is folly!” he pAtcsted. “I suppose it is,” she said. “But I can’t help it. I would throw myself over Brooklyn Bridge before I took a penny from him.” He shrugged his shoulders. He felt both sorry for, and impatient with his pretty, pathetic little visitor. “Take my advice and go back to him at once,” he said firmly. Molly shook her head resolutely, then go up and turned to go. “I’m afraid I’ve taken a great deal too much of your time,” she said. The man waved that aside very peremptorily. "Listen to me,” he said. “I make a rule never to employ anybody unless they are just the one right person for tbe job. I have no opening for you, I’m sorry to say. But I would like to help you. I would lend you anything,” he added, very diffidently. “If you would let me.” Be could see from the sudden tightening of Molly’s mouth that she would iwt

“There is only one person from whom I could possibly take money, and that is my uncle,; and I won’t from him. You quite see my position!” she urged. “I want work—independence. I cannot accept charity. Still, Ido thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” The man had picked up Molly's card from his desk the moment she mentiend her uncle. Now ho whistled softly. “Your uncle ! You don’t mean to say that you are John D. Briant’s niece!” The quick flush that rushed over Molly’s face told him all he wanted to know. “The old file' ” he exclaimed sotto voce. Then his face grew thoughtful for a. jnoment “I’ve got it!” he began,, and as he spoke he started to write a letter of recommendation. “There is a friend Of mine, George Knapp in Little West Twelfth Street, wants a correspondence clerk who can handle French and German letters. He wanted a male, but I have no doubt that you would suit him all right. You see he is only in a small way, so he coul I make you quite useful generally,”

*Te handed her the letter in an addressed envelope. “Here’s the address,” he said and touched the bell. That should get you a trial all right,” he added with a kindly smile. "Tell Johnson to run this lady down to Mr. Knapp’s office and leave her there,” he said when a clerk entered in answer to his ring.

“You are very kind,” said Molly gratefully. “Let me know how you get on,” he said with a kindly smile. "As a matter Of fact, my dear, I have a daughter just about your age, and well—you’ll understand just how I feel!” With that 1 r ueezed her hand and turned to open the door. ' “Let me know how you get on,” he * id again. And with a grateful, tearful smile Molly hurried away. After all, things were not turning out so very badly, she thought. When she reached the street a great car stood waiting. At the wheel was a smiling negro, who seemed anxious only to assure her that she would be as safe in his care, in spite of New York’s traffic, as she would be in the vaults of the Sub Treasury in Wall Street. At the bottom of Christopher Street the car turned to the right, and Molly realised that the place was familiar. Yes, just down there was the Cunard L k, where she had landed. The thought of the liner, and the sea, and distant England, made her heart ache. Oh, to be back in dear old ngland again. Suddenly she found the car standing a‘ the curb, and the smiling, fawning negro was holding the door open. “Yo’re right heah,” he grinned.

Molly smiled her thanks, and the negro drove away. “Can I see Mr. Knapp!” queried Molly, a minute later of a very young man' in the tiny enquiry office on the twelfth floor. “The fact is, Mr. Knapp is out.” "Will he be long!” asked Ylolly. “Well, he’s gone down to our dock—the “old S 4” Miss. If you would care to follow him down there no doubt he would see you. But you’d better hurry. I know he* has some other business to see too before he saids.” Molly’s mouth opened in an agony of disappointment. . t , t * “Before —what*’*’