The Crimson Thread Part 11

"Now," he smiled a broad smile, "your Uncle James, once a seaman and now a land fighter, is ready to pilot you home. What's the port?"

"Sixty-first and Drexel," said Cordie.

"All right. Port 'er bow. We're off."

Concerning his recent combat--if there had been a combat--James said not a word. Cordie wondered at this, but eager as she was to know the outcome of the battle, if there had been one, she dreaded quite as much to hear the whole truth. Visions of an inanimate form, lying bruised and bleeding in some dark corner of the stair, set her shuddering. So in the end she asked no question.

Their pa.s.sage to the upper floor and out of the building was uneventful.

The watchman at the door recognized them and allowed them to pa.s.s.

Previous to this time James had seemed quiet and uncommunicative, but now as they rattled along on the L train he told her many a wild tale of the sea journeys he had made. In his deep mellow drawl he talked of the whale s.h.i.+p _Addler_ in northern seas; of Eskimo and polar bear and the gleaming northern lights; and then he talked of the Cutter _Corwin_ among the palm shadowed South Sea Islands.

It was with a real feeling of regret that Cordie, hearing her own station announced, realized that their visit was at an end.

Five minutes later, br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with excitement, she burst into Lucile's room.

"Wait!" exclaimed Lucile as she read in Cordie's eyes the story of some thrilling experience. "You've had an adventure. So have I. Let's not spoil 'em in the telling. Let's set the stage for a story. You haven't had a bite to eat, have you?"

"No--o," Cordie admitted, "not a single bite. I'd forgotten."

"Neither have I. You'll find a loaf of bread and a slice of cream pimento cheese in the upper dresser drawer. There are some vanilla wafers, too.

You make the sandwiches and I'll have the cocoa piping hot in a minute.

No, I'll tell you, let's dress for it first."

Fifteen minutes later they sat in their bright colored dressing gowns, sipping the delicious hot beverage and hungrily devouring sandwiches.

"Now," said Lucile after the last sandwich had vanished and fresh cups had been poured, "now's the time for spinning yarns. You tell yours first."

With many a gesture and dramatic pause, Cordie told of her startling discovery, her wild dash through the throng, her descent into the depths of the earth, and of the strange doings down there beneath the surface of the city's streets.

"Yes," said Lucile, sipping her chocolate thoughtfully as Cordie's narrative ended, "that surely was the young man who attempted to carry you away when you fainted in the Art Museum. Dear little girl, you must be careful, very careful indeed. You must never be left alone; never!

Never! Even if the Mystery Woman beckons or the Lady of the Christmas Spirit clinks her gold in my very ears, I will not desert you again."

It was a very warm and friendly hand that Lucile felt tucked into her own, and a suspiciously husky voice that said:

"Thank you, my dear big sister.

"But," Cordie exclaimed suddenly, "I must not tell them. It would never do. They wouldn't let me----"

Suddenly checking her speech as if about to unwittingly reveal a secret, she changed the subject abruptly. "Please tell me of your adventure," she said.

"My adventure?" smiled Lucile. "Compared with yours, it was no adventure at all--merely an episode. However, since it throws some light on a mystery and reveals the whereabouts of a bit of stolen property, I must tell you about it."

Then, while Cordie leaned back among the cus.h.i.+ons, her eyes half closed as if she were day dreaming, Lucile told of her experience with the Mystery Lady.

"My iron ring!" exclaimed Cordie, sitting bolt upright as Lucile came to that part of the story. "My iron ring! The old mischief! I might have known! I----"

Again Cordie checked herself.

"Might have known what?" asked Lucile.

"Might have known that someone had stolen it, I suppose," finished Cordie lamely. "Anyway, someone did, didn't they? And isn't it funny that she should have a diamond set in it? Wouldn't it be a joke to come upon her wearing it? Wouldn't it, though? I'd march right up and say, 'Lay-d-e-e give me the ring! You stole it. My precious, my onliest, only iron ring!'" She threw back her head and laughed.

Lucile joined her in the laugh, and with this forgot for a time that Cordie had said something very unusual about the ring and the lady who had taken it. At last Cordie broke the silence:

"James is a very unusual person."

"Yes, he must be."

"Do you suppose he caught that man--the one who had been following me?"

"I hope so, but perhaps not. You say he was all mussed up when he came back?"

"Uh-huh."

"But not bruised, nor b.l.o.o.d.y, nor anything like that?"

"No, I guess not--no, not a bit."

"Then probably he didn't. When I got through my wild race about the place the other night I was good and mussed up, and I hadn't been in a fight either. It wouldn't be easy to catch anyone in that labyrinth."

Again there was silence for a little while.

"Lucile," whispered Cordie, bending forward eagerly, her face alight with some strange idea. "James is so mysterious. Do you suppose he could be a pirate in hiding?"

"A pirate! Why child, there aren't any pirates."

"Not any at all?"

"You don't read about any, do you?"

"You don't read about lots of things. You never read about my wrapping bundles, did you? But I am, just the same. Everything doesn't get in the papers. I think it would be wonderful if he turned out to be a real pirate. You'd think he was one if you heard some of the stories he told me to-night about the sea."

"All right," laughed her companion, "if you can make him out a pirate, a nice friendly sort of pirate who is kind to ladies and all that, you're welcome. But for my part, I'd give a lot more to know what that self appointed brother of yours has done to James. It must have been something rather terrible."

"Yes," agreed Cordie, "it surely must."

"Listen!" exclaimed Lucile. "There go the chimes! Ten o'clock, and you work in the morning!"

Leaping from her chair, she began cleaning up the remnants of their little feast. Ten minutes later the room was darkened for the night.

Though the room was dark, and though Lucile was tired enough for sleep, her eyes did not close at once. She was thinking and her thoughts were not of the most cheerful sort.

The outlook, she was forced to admit, was gloomy enough. She had hoped to save enough money from her pay at the store to start her in the new term at school. This hope was fast dwindling away. Her own expenses had been greater than she had thought they would be. Added to this was the increase in her room rent due to the presence of Cordie. Her dream that Cordie was saving money had been blighted only the night before, for on that night Cordie had brought home the gorgeous dressing gown she had worn as they sat over the cocoa cups.

"And it must have cost her every penny she possessed," groaned Lucile.

"How extravagant! How--how----"

She wanted to say ungrateful, but could not quite do it. The girl appeared so impractical, so lovable, so irresponsible, that she could not find the heart to blame her.