CHAPTER XI
BOB FAILS TO FIND MRS. CAMERON
For a moment after the porter's offer to act as his guide in seeing Chicago, Bob thought he would accept it, and accordingly they left the office together, the pass having been made out and delivered to the boy.
When they appeared upon the street, however, the passersby stopped and stared at the curious pair—Bob, in his worn, ill-fitting suit, and the darky, very black, clad in the latest fashion—with amazement.
One woman, whose hair was tinged with gray, and whose aquiline features, severe clothes and general mien bespoke the spinster who always had time to meddle in other people's affairs, exclaimed to the person nearest her:
"There is certainly something wrong here. I feel it in my bones. That colored person is taking this boy somewhere for no good purpose. I think it is my duty to interfere."
"Oh, I wouldn't bother," returned the member of the throng whom she had addressed. "The boy seems to be going along willingly enough."
"But I think it is my duty to make sure," persisted the officious spinster. "My conscience will never be easy in the thought that perhaps if I had spoken, I might have saved the boy from some terrible fate."
During this conversation, Bob and the porter had walked almost half a block. But both of them had heard the first remarks, and as the would-be rescuer set out in pursuit of them, Bob chanced to look back, and saw her coming, followed by several of the crowd who had first stopped to watch them in the hopes that they might be afforded some amusement from the woman's interference.
Unwilling to become the cause of a street scene, Bob turned to his companion, and said:
"I—I guess, after all, it won't be necessary for me to trouble you to go about with me."
"It will be no trouble, and Ah sho' am willing to do most anything for you 'count o' that note you gave me for Massa Perkins."
"Oh, that's all right," hastily returned Bob. "I was glad to do it. I only hope that it will be successful in letting you get back your job."
"Ah think it will, but Chicago's a pretty big place, and Ah'm afraid something may happen to you so that you will miss your train. It goes in about four hours. Is there any place particular you want to go?"
"Yes, I was going out to South 101st Street."
And Bob described the location of the apartment house where he expected to find Mrs. Cameron, the sister of the waitress who had been so kind to him.
"Then you want to take this cyar. It runs right by the corner, and when you come back, you keep on it until you get to the Northwestern station, where you get your train."
"All right, thank you!" exclaimed Bob, going out into the street to hail the car that had been pointed out to him.
The porter stood on the curb, evidently with the intention of seeing that Bob got aboard without mishap, until turning his head he caught sight of the sharp-featured woman, whose comment he had overheard.
"Ma soul, Ah sure don't want to get in any argument with such a woman," he muttered to himself, and bolted precipitately, soon losing himself in the crowd of pedestrians.
The flight of the porter seemed to confirm the woman's suspicions, but she instantly realized that she could not hope to overtake the darky, and quickly determined to hail Bob.
Rushing into the street, she cried in a shrill voice:
"Little boy! Little boy!"
Bob, however, had no relish for an interview with her, and quickly mounted the steps of the car and entered.
Again the woman repeated her cry, but Bob paid no attention, and it was with great relief that he heard the conductor pull the signal-bell for the car to start.
Determined not to be thwarted, the woman cried:
"Mr. Conductor! Mr. Conductor! Stop that car!"
But that individual had developed a deafness as sudden as Bob's and the car continued on its foray.
For a moment the woman, her philanthropic intentions balked, stood on the car track, but realizing that she was making a spectacle of herself, she returned to the sidewalk, where the gibing comments of those who had witnessed the scene caused her to blush with anger, and she was glad to escape the words of advice that were called out to her by entering the doors of a convenient store.
As soon as Bob found that his escape had been effected, he returned to the platform.
"I'm glad you didn't stop the car for that woman," said he to the conductor.
"What's the matter, are you running away from her?"
"No. I never saw her before."
"Then why did she call you to stop?" asked the conductor, his tone indicating that he thought perhaps Bob might have picked her pocket.
"I don't know. When I was walking along with that colored man, I heard her say she thought he was trying to take me somewhere I shouldn't go."
Bob's evident lack of familiarity with Chicago and the circumstances under which he had boarded the car, aroused the conductor's curiosity, and he inquired:
"Well, was he?"
"No, he had just offered to show me about Chicago."
And then Bob told enough of the story to convince the street-car man that there was nothing improper about the occurrence, and that he succeeded was evidenced by the comment of the conductor, as he said:
"That's just like some women, always meddling in things they don't know anything about. I'll tell you when you get to 101st street."
Bob was deeply interested in the scenes through which he was passing, and it seemed to him that he had scarcely been on the car ten minutes when the conductor told him he had reached the street he desired.
Leaving the car, Bob walked to the sidewalk, and then looked about him to get his bearings.
Across the street stood the yellow brick apartment house the waitress had mentioned, and as it was the only building of its kind thereabout, he made his way to it.
Entering the vestibule, Bob scanned the names on the letter boxes for that of Mrs. John Cameron, but though he looked them over three times, he could not see it.
As he stood wondering what to do, a woman opened the door to come out.
Deciding that she was probably one of the people who lived in the building, Bob asked, taking off his hat, and bowing politely:
"Can you tell me if Mrs. John Cameron lives here?"
"No, she doesn't."
"Well, she used to, didn't she?"
"Yes, right across the hall from me, on the third floor, but she moved about six weeks ago."
"Do you know where she's gone?" cried Bob.
"She's moved to Kansas City, but I don't know her address. Is there anything particular you wanted of her?"
"No—that is, I just had a message to deliver to her from her sister in New York."
"Well, I'm sorry that I can't give you the address in Kansas City. You might find it out, though, from the janitor, possibly," added the woman, and smiling at Bob, she continued on her way.
For a moment Bob was undecided whether or not to ring for the janitor in order that he might inquire about the address of the waitress' sister, and then realizing that there was no necessity for his so doing, he concluded to go to the station and wait for his train.
"It's a mighty good thing I met Mr. Perkins," said Bob to himself, as he rode back downtown on the street-car. "If I hadn't, I suppose I would have been obliged to go to work until I could get enough money to take me to Oklahoma, and it would have been an awful disappointment not to find Mrs. Cameron. But it's all right now; besides, I'm better off than I would have been if she had been here, because I have a pass clear to Fairfax, and her sister said her husband could only help me as far as Kansas City."