CHAPTER I When the thing was at its hottest I bolted. Tom, like the darling he is—yes, you are, old fellow, you're as precious to me as you are to the police if they could only get their hands on you—well, Tom drew off the crowd, having passed the old gentleman's watch to me, and I made for the women's rooms. The station was crowded, as it always is in the afternoon, and in a minute I was strolling into the big square room, saying slowly to myself to keep me steady.  Just in from Bryn Mawr to meet your papa. Just see if your hat's on straight. I did, going up to the big glass and looking beyond my excited face to the room behind me. There sat the woman who could never nurse her baby except where everybody can see her in a railroad station. There was the woman who's always hungry, nibbling chocolates out of a box, and the woman falling asleep with her hat on the side and hairpins dropping out of her hair, and the woman who's beside herself with fear that she'll miss her train, and the woman who is taking notes about the other women's rigs and—and I didn't like the look of that man with the cap who opened the swinging door a bit and peeped in. The women's waiting-room is no place for a man, nor for a girl who's got somebody else's watch inside her waist.  I retreated, going to an inner-room where the ladies were having the maid brush their gowns, soiled from suburban travel in the dirty station. The deuce is in it the way women stare. I took off my hat and jacket for a reason to stay there, and hung them up as leisurely as I could. Nance, I said under my breath, to the alert-eyed pug-nosed girl in the mirror, who gave a quick glance about the room as I bent to wash my hands. Women stare because they're women. There's no meaning in their look. If they were men now, you might Twitter. I smoothed my hair and reached out my hand to get my hat and jacket when—when oh it was long, long enough to cover you from your chin to your heels. It was a dark, warm red, and it had a high collar of chinchilla that was fairly scrumptious. And just above it the hat hung, a red clothed toque caught up on the side with some of the same fur. The black maid misunderstood my involuntary gesture. I had all my best duds on, and when a lot of women stare, it makes the woman they stare at peacock naturally, and—and—well, asked Tom what he thinks of my style when I'm on parade. At any rate, it was the maid's fault. She took down the coat and hat and held them for me as though they were mine. What could I do, except just slip into the silk-lined beauty and set the toque on my head. The fool girl that owned them was having another maid mend a tear in her skirt over in the corner. The little place was crowded. Anyway, I had both the coat and hat on and was out into the big ante-room in a jiffy. What nearly wrecked me was the cut of that coat. It positively made me shiver with pleasure when I passed and saw myself in that long mirror. My but I was great. The hang of that coat. The long, incurving sweep in the back and the high, fur collar up to one's nose, even if it is a turned-up nose—oh. I stayed and looked a second too long. For just as I was pulling the flaring hat a bit over my face, the doors swung as an old lady came in, and there behind her was that same curious man's face with the cap above it. Trapped. Me. Not much. I didn't wait a minute, but through the doors open with a gesture that might have belonged to the Queen of Spain, I almost ran into his arms. He gave an exclamation. I looked him straight in the eyes as I hooked the collar close to my throat and swept past him. He weakened. That coat was too jolly much for him. It was for me too, as I ran down the stairs as influence so worked on me that I didn't know just which Vanderbilt I was. I got out on the sidewalk all right and was just about to take a car when the turnstile swung round, and there was that same man with the cap. His face was a funny mixture of doubt and determination, but it meant the correction for me. Nance holden it's over, I said to myself. But it wasn't, for it was then that I caught sight of the carriage. It was a fat, low, comfortable, elegant, sober carriage, wide and well kept, with rubber-tired wheels, and the two heavy horses were fat and elegant and sober too, and wide and well kept. I didn't know it was the bishops then. I didn't care whose it was. It was empty and it was mine. I'd rather go to the correction, being too young to get to the place you're bound for, Tom Dorgan, in it than in the patrol wagon. At any rate, it was all the chance I had. I slipped in, closing the door sharply behind me. The man on the box, he was wide and well kept too, was tired waiting, I suppose, for he continued to doze gently, his high coachman's collar up over his ears. I cursed that collar, which prevented his hearing the door close, for then he might have driven off. But it was great inside, soft and warm, the cushions of dark plum, the seat wide and roomy, a church paper, some notes for the bishops' next sermon, and a copy of Cova-D. I just snuggled down, trust me. I leaned far back and lay low. When I did peek out the window, I saw the man with the brass buttons and the cap turning to go inside again. Victory! He had lost his scent. Who would look for Nancy Olden in the bishops' carriage? Now, you know how early I got up yesterday to catch the train, so as Tom and I could come in with the people and be naturally mingling with them? And you remember the dance the night before? I hadn't had more than three hours sleep, and the snug warmth of that coach was just nuts to me after the freezing ride into town. I didn't dare get out for fear of some other man and a cap and buttons somewhere on the lookout. I knew they couldn't be on to my hiding place, or they'd have nabbed me before this. After a bit I didn't want to get out. I was so warm and comfortable and elegant. Oh, Tom, you should have seen your nance in that coat and in the bishops' carriage. First thing I knew, I was dreaming you and I were being married, and you had brass buttons all over you, and I had the cloak all right, but it was a wedding dress, and the chinchilla was a wormy sort of orange blossoms, and I waked when the handle of the door turned and the bishop got in. A sleep? That's what. I'd actually been asleep. And what did I do now? That's easy. Fell asleep again. There wasn't anything else to do. Not really asleep this time, you know, just sleep enough to be wide awake to any chance there was in it. The horses had started, and the carriage was halfway across the street before the bishop noticed me.  Just listen. Lord bless me, he exclaimed, hurriedly putting on his spectacles and looking about bewildered. I was slumbering sweetly in the corner, but I could see between my lashes that he thought he jumped into somebody else's carriage. The sight of his book and his papers comforted him, though, and before he could make a resolution I let the jolting of the carriage as it crossed the car track throw me gently against him. Daddy, I murmured sleepily, letting my head rest on his little prim shoulder. That comforted him, too. Hustier laughing, Tom Dorgan. I mean calling him Daddy seemed to kind of take the cuss off the situation. My child, he began very gently. Oh, Daddy! I exclaimed, snuggling down close to him. You kept me waiting so long I went to sleep. I thought you'd never come. He put his arm about my shoulders in a fatherly way.  I guess he thought he had one now. Such a simple dear old soul. Just the same, Tom Dorgan, if he had been my father, I'd never be doing stunts with tipsy men's watches for you, nor if I'd had any father. Now don't get mad. Think of the bishop with his gentle, thin, old arm about my shoulders holding me for just a second as though I was his daughter. My, think of it.  There's some mistake, my little girl. He said, shaking me gently to wake me up, for I was going to sleep again, he feared. Oh, I knew you were kept at the office. I interrupted quickly. I preferred to be farther from the station with that girl's red coat before I got out. We've missed our train anyway, haven't we? After this, Daddy dear, let's not take this route. If we'd go straight through on the one road, we wouldn't have this drive across town every time. I was wondering before I fell asleep what in the world I'd do in this big city if you didn't come. He forgot to withdraw his arm, so occupied was he by my predicament. What would you do, my child, if you had missed your father? Wasn't it clumsy of him? He wanted to break it to me gently, and this was the best he could do. What would I do? I gasped indignantly. Why, Daddy, imagine me alone and without money. Why, how can you? There, there, he said, patting me soothingly on the shoulder. That baby of a bishop, the very thought of Nancy Olden out alone in the streets, was too much for him. He had put his free hand into his pocket and had just taken out a bill and was trying to plan a way to offer it to me and reveal the fact to poor modest little Nancy Olden that he was not her own daddy when an awful thing happened. We had got up street as far as the opera house, when we were caught in the jam of carriages in front. The last afternoon opera of the season was just over. I was so busy thinking what would be my next move that I didn't notice much outside, and I didn't want to move, Tom, not a bit. Playing the bishop's daughter in a trailing coach of red trim with chinchilla is just your Nancy's graft. But the dear little bishop gave a jump that almost knocked the roof off the carriage, pulled his arm from behind me and dropped the $10 bill he held as though it burned him. It fell in my lap. I jammed it into my coat pocket. Where is it now? Just you wait, Tom Dorgan, and you'll find out. I followed the bishop's eyes. His face was scarlet now. Right next to our carriage, mine in the bishops, there was another.  All the same I couldn't see anything to cause a loving father to let go his onliest daughter in such a hurry till the old lady inside bent forward again and gave us another look. Her face told it then. It was a big, smooth face with accordion-plated chins.   They were little and very gray, and they bored their way straight through the windows, hers and ours, and hit the bishop plum in the face. My, if I could only have laughed.  But you see, it was over in a minute. The carriage wheels were unlocked and the blue coop went whirling away, and we in the plum-cushion carriage followed slowly. I decided that I'd had enough. Now and here in the middle of all these carriages was a bully good time and place for me to get away. I turned to the bishop. He was blushing like a boy. I blushed, too. Yes, I did, Tom Dorgan, but it was because I was bursting with laughter. Oh, dear! I exclaimed, and suddened as may, you're not my father. No, no, my dear, I—I'm not. He stammered, his face purple now with embarrassment. I was just trying to tell you, you poor little girl, of your mistake and planning a way to help you when— He made a gesture of despair toward the side where the coop had been. I covered my face with my hands and shrinking over into the corner I cried. Let me out! Let me out! You're not my father! Oh, let me out! Why, certainly, child, but I'm old enough surely to be, and I wish—I wish I were. You do? The dignity and tenderness and courtesy in his voice sort of sobered me, but all at once I remembered the face of Mrs. Dowager Diamonds, and I understood. Oh, because of her! I said, smiling and pointing to the side where the coop had been. My, but it was a rotten bad move. I ought to have been strapped for it. Oh, Tom, Tom, it takes more than a red coat with chinchilla to make a black-hearted thing like me into the girl he thought I was.  I won't tell you what I did, then. No, I won't, and you won't understand, but just that minute I cared more for what he thought of me than whether I got to the correction or anywhere else. It made us friends in a minute, and when he stopped the carriage to let me out, my hand was still in his. But I wouldn't go. I'd made up my mind to see him out of his part of the scrape, and first thing you know we were driving up toward the square, if you please, to Mrs. Dowager Diamonds' house. He thought it was his scheme, the poor lamb, to put me in her charge till my lost daddy could send for me. He'd no more idea that I was steering him toward her, that he was doing the only thing possible, the only square thing by his reputation, than he had that Nance Oldman had been raised by the cruelty and then flung herself away on the first-handsome Irish boy she met. That'll do, Tom. Girls, if you could have seen Mrs. Dowager Diamonds' face when she came down the stairs, the bishop's card in her hand and into the gorgeous parlor, it'd have been as good as a front seat at the show. She was mad and she was curious and she was amazed and she was disarmed, for the very nerve of his bringing me to her staggered her so that she could hardly believe she'd seen what she had. My dear Mrs. Ramsey, he began, confused a bit by his remembrance of how her face had looked fifteen minutes before, I bring to you an unfortunate child who mistook my carriage for her father's this afternoon at the station. She is a college girl, a stranger in town, until her father claims her. Oh, the baby, the baby! She was stiffening like a rod before his very eyes. How did his words explain his having his arm around the unfortunate child? His conscience was so clean that the dear little man actually overlooked the fact that it wasn't my presence in the carriage, but his conduct there that it excited Mrs. Dowager Diamonds. And didn't the story sound thin? I tell you, Tom, when it comes to lying to a woman, you've got to think up something stronger than it takes to make a man believe in you if you happen to be female yourself. I didn't wait for him to finish but waltzed right in. I danced straight up to that side of beef with the diamonds still on it and flinging my arms about her turned a coy eye on the bishop. You said your wife was out of town, daddy. I cried gaily. Have you got another wife besides mummy? The poor bishop. Do you think he tumbled? Not a bit, not a bit. He sat there gasping like a fish and Mrs. Dowager Diamonds, surprised by my sudden attack, stood bolt upright about as pleasant to hug as you are, Tom, when you're jealous. The trouble with the bishop's set is that it's deadly slow. Now if I had really been the bishop's daughter. All right, I'll go on. Oh, mummy, I went on quickly. You know how I said it, Tom, the way I told you after that last row that Dan Christensen wasn't near so good looking as you, remember? Oh, mummy, you don't know how good it feels to get home. Out there at that awful college, studying and studying and studying, sometimes I thought I'd lose my senses. There's a girl out there now suffering from nervous prostration. She worked so hard preparing for the mid-years. What's her name? I can't think. I can't think. My head's so tired. But it sounds like mine, a lot like mine. Once I think it was yesterday. I thought it was mine, and I made up my mind suddenly to come right home and bring it with me. But it can't be mine, can't it? It can't be my name, she's got. It can't be mummy. Say it can't. Say it can't. Tom, I ought to have gone on the stage. I'll go yet when you're sent up some day. Yes, I will. You'll be where you can't stop me. I couldn't see the bishop, but the Dowager. Oh, I'd got her. Not so bad an old body, either, if you only take her the right way. First she was suspicious, and then she was scared. And then bit by bit, the stiffness melted out of her. Her arms came up about me, and there I was, lying all comfy with the diamonds on her neck, boring rosettes in my cheeks, and she is sniffling over me and patting me and telling me not to get excited that it was all right, and now I was home mummy would take care of me. She would, that she would. She did. She got me onto a lounge, soft as marshmallows, and she piled one silk pillow after another behind my back. Come, dear, let me help you off with your coat, she could, bending over me. Oh, mummy, it's so cold. Can't I please keep it on? To let that coat off me was to give the whole thing away. My rig underneath, though good enough for your girl, Tom, on a holiday, wasn't just what they wear in the square. And do you know you'll say it's silly, but I had a conviction that with that coat I should say goodbye to the nerve I'd had since I got into the bishop's carriage, and from there into society. I let her take the hat, though, and I could see by the way she handled it that it was all right, the thing, her kind, you know. Oh, the girl I got it from had good taste, all right. I closed my eyes for a moment as I lay there, and she stood stroking my hair. She must have thought I'd fallen asleep, for she turned to the bishop, and holding out her hand, she said softly. My dear, dear bishop, you are the best-hearted, the saintliest man on earth. Because you are so beautifully clean-sold yourself, you must pardon me. I am ashamed to say it, but I shall have no rest till I do. When I saw you in the carriage downtown with that poor, demented child, I thought for just a moment, oh, can you forgive me? It shows what an evil mind I have. But you, who know so well what Edward is, what my life has been with him, will see how much reason I have to be suspicious of all men. I shook, I laughed so hard.  See Tom, poor old Mrs. Dowager up in the square, having the same devil's luck with her man as Molly Elliott down in the alley has with hers. I wonder if you're all alike. No, for there's the bishop. He had taken her hand sympathizingly, forgivingly, but his silence made me curious. I knew he wouldn't let the old lady believe for a moment I was loony if once he could be sure himself that I wasn't. You lie, Tom Dorgan, he wouldn't. Well, but the poor baby, how could he expect to see through a game that had caught the Dowager herself? Still I could hear him walking softly toward me, and I felt him looking keenly down at me long before I opened my eyes. When I did you should have seen him jump. Guilty he felt. I could see the blood rush up under his clear, thin old skin, soft as a baby's, to find himself caught trying to spy out my secret. I just looked big-eyed up at him. You know, the way Molly's kid does when he wakes. I looked a long, long time as though I was puzzled.  You—you are my daddy, ain't you? Yes, yes, of course. It was the Dowager who got between him and me, hinting heavily at him with nods and frowns. But the dear old fellow only got pinker in the effort to look a lie and not say it. Still he looked relieved. Evidently he thought I was loony all right, but that I had lucid intervals. I heard him whisper something like this to the Dowager just before the maid came in with tea for me. Yes, Tom Dorgan, tea for Nancy Olden off a silver salver out of a cup like a painted eggshell. My, but that almost floored me.  So I said I wasn't hungry, though Lord knows I hadn't had anything to eat since early morning. But the Dowager sent the maid away and took the tray herself, operating all the jugs and pots for me, and then tried to feed me the tea. She was about as handy as Molly's little sister is with the baby, but I allowed myself to be coaxed and drank it down. Tea, Tom Dorgan. Ever taste tea? If you knew how to behave yourself in polite society, I'd give you a card to my friend the Dowager up in the square. How to get away? That was the thing that worried me. I just made up my mind to have a lucid interval when creak, the front door opened, and in walked. Tom, you're mighty cute.  Yes, oh yes, you've met him. Well, the old duffer who's watched was ticking inside my waist that very minute. Yes, sir, the same red-faced, big-necked fellow we'd spied getting full at the little station in the country. Only he was a bit mellower than when you grabbed his chain. Well, he was Edward. I almost dropped the cup when I saw him. The Dowager took it from me, saying, There, dear, don't be nervous. It's only, only. She got lost. It couldn't be my daddy. The bishop was that. But it was her husband. So who could it be? Evening, Bishop. Hello, Henrietta. Back so soon from the opera. Roared Edward in a big husky voice. He'd had more since we saw him.  Ah, his eyes lit up at side of me. Ah, Miss, Miss, of course I've met the young lady, Henrietta, but hang me if I haven't forgotten her name. Miss, Miss Murison, lied the old lady glibly, a relative. Why, Mummy, I said reproachfully. There, there, it's only a joke. Isn't it a joke, Edward? She demanded, laughing uneasily. Joke! He repeated with a hearty bellow of laughter. Best kind of a joke, I call it, to find so pretty a girl wide in your own house, eh, Bishop? Why does he call my father Bishop, Mummy? I couldn't help it. The fun of hearing the Dowager lie and knowing the bishop beside himself with the pain of deception was too much for me. I could see she didn't dare trust her Edward with my sad story. Ho, ho, the bishop, that's good. No, my dear Miss Murison, if this lady's your mother, why I must be, at least I ought to be, your father, as such I'm going to have all the privileges of a parent. Bless me if I'm not. I don't suppose he'd had done it if he'd been sober, but there is no telling when you remember the reputation the Dowager had given him. But he'd got no further than to put his arm around me when both the bishop and the Dowager flew to the rescue. My, but they were shocked. I couldn't help wondering what they'd have done if Edward had happened to see the bishop in the same sort of tableau earlier in the afternoon. But I got a lucid interval just then and distracted their attention. I stood for a moment, my head bent as though I was thinking deeply. I think I'll go now, I said at length. I, I don't understand exactly how I got here. I went on looking from the bishop to the Dowager and back again. Or how I happened to miss my father. I'm ever so much obliged to you. And if you'll give me my hat, I'll take the next train back to college. You'll do nothing of the sort, said the Dowager promptly.  You must go to my room and rest. And stay for dinner, don't you care? Sometimes I don't know how I get here myself. Edward winked jovially. Well, I did. While the Dowager's back was turned, I gave him the littlest one in return for his. It made him drunker than ever.  The young lady is wiser than we. I'll take her to the station. The station, ooh, not Nance Olden with the red coat still on. Impossible, my dear bishop, interrupted the Dowager. She can't be permitted to go back on the train alone. Why, Miss, Miss Murison, I'll see you back all the way to the college door. Not at all, not at all, charmed. First we'll have dinner, or first I'll telephone out there and tell them you're with us so that if there's any rule or anything of that sort. The telephone, this wretched Edward with half his wits gave me more trouble than the bishop and the Dowager put together. She jumped at the idea and left the room only to come back again to whisper to me. What name, my dear? What name? What name? I repeated blankly. What name indeed? I wonder how Nance Olden would have done. Don't hurry, dear, don't perplex yourself. She whispered anxiously, noting my bewilderment. There's plenty of time and it makes no difference, not a particle, really. I put my hand to my head. I can't think, I can't think. There's one girl has nervous prostration and her name's got mixed with mine and I can't. Hush, hush, never mind. You shall come and lie down in my room. You'll stay with us tonight anyway and we'll have a doctor in, bishop. That's right, assented the bishop. I'll go get him myself. You, you're not going, I cried in dismay. It was real, I hated to see him go. Nonsense, phone. It was Edward who went himself to telephone for the doctor and I saw my time getting short. But the bishop had to go anyway. He looked out at his horses shivering in front of the house and the sight hurried him. My child, he said, taking my hand. Just let Mrs. Ramsey take care of you tonight. Don't bother about anything but just rest. I'll see you in the morning, he went on, noticing that I kind of clung to him. Well, I did. Can't you remember what I said to you in the carriage that I wished you were my daughter? I wish you were, indeed I do, and that I could take you home with me and keep you child. Then tonight, if, when you pray, will you pray for me as if I was your own daughter? Tom Dorrigan, you think no prayers but a priest or any good, you bigoted, snickering Catholic. I tell you, if someday I cut loose from you and start in over again, it'll be the bishop's prayers that'll do it. The dowager and I passed Edward in the hall. He gave me a look behind her back and I gave him one to match it. Just practice, you know, Tom. A girl can never know when she'll want to be expert in these things.  And I wanted everything I saw. If I could, I'd have lifted everything in sight. But every minute brought that doctor nearer. Soon as I could be really sure she was gone, I got up and hurrying to the long French windows that opened on the great stone piazza, I unfastened them quietly and inch by inch I pushed them open. There within 10 feet of me stood Edward. No escape that way. He saw me and was tiptoeing heavily toward me when I heard the door click behind me and in walked the Dowager back again. I flew to her. I thought I heard someone out there, I said. It frightened me so that I got up to look. Nobody could be out there, could they? She walked to the window and put her head out. Her lips tightened grimly. No, nobody could be out there, she said, breathing hard. But you might get nervous just thinking there might be. We'll go to a room upstairs. And go we did, in spite of all I could plead about feeling well enough now to go alone and all the rest of it. How was I to get out of a second or third story window? I began to think about the correction again as I followed her upstairs. And after she'd left me, I just sat waiting for the doctor to come and send me there. I didn't much care till I remembered the bishop. I could almost see his face as it would look when he'd be called to testify against me and I'd be standing in that railed-in prisoner's pen and the middle of the courtroom where Dan Christensen stood when they tried him. No, I couldn't bear that, not without a fight anyway. It was for the bishop I'd got into this part of the scrape. I'd get out of it so as he shouldn't know how bad a thing a girl can be. While I lay thinking it over, the same maid that had brought me the tea came in. She was an ugly, thin little thing. If she's a sample of the maids in that house, the lot of them would take the kink out of your pretty hair, Thomas J. Dorgan Esquire, late of the house of refuge and soon of Moyam Ensing. Don't throw things, people in my set, mine and the Dowagers don't. She had been sent to help me undress, she said, and make me comfortable. The doctor lived just around the corner and would be in in a minute. Phew, she wasn't very promising, but she was my only chance. I took her. I really don't need any help, thank you, Nora. I said, chip her as a sparrow and remembering the name the Dowager had called her by. Aunt Henrietta is too fussy, don't you think? Oh, of course she won't say a word against her. She told me the other day that she'd never had a maid so sensible and quick-witted too as her Nora. Do you know I have a mind to play a joke on the doctor when he comes? You'll help me, won't you? Oh, I know you will. Suddenly I remembered the bishop's bill. I took it out of my pocket. Yep, Tom, that's where it went. I had to choose between giving that skinny maid the biggest tip she ever got in her life or Nance Olin to the correction. You didn't swear, Tom Dorgan. I fancy if I'd got there, you'd got worse. No, you bully, you know I wouldn't tell, but the police sort of know how to pair our kind. In her cap and apron, I let the doctor in and myself out and I don't regret a thing up there in the square except that lovely red coat with the high collar and the hat with the fur on it. I'd give Tom, get me a coat like that and I'll marry you for life. No, there's one thing I could do better if it was to be done over again. I could make that dear little old bishop wish harder I'd been his daughter. What am I moaning about? Oh, nothing. There's the watch, Edward's watch. Take it. End of chapter one. Chapter two of in the bishop's carriage. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leanne Howlett. In the bishop's carriage by Miriam Michelson. Chapter two. Yes, empty-handed, Tom Dorgan, and I can't honestly say I didn't have the chance, but if my hands are empty, my head is full. Listen, there's a girl I know with short brown hair, a turned up nose and gray eyes, rather far apart. You know her too? Well, she can't help that. But this girl, oh, she makes such a pretty boy. And the ladies at the hotel over in Brooklyn, they just doed on her when she's not only a boy, but a bell boy. Her name may be Nancy when she's in petticoats, but in trousers she's Nathaniel. In short, Nat. Now, Nat, in blue and buttons, with his nails kept better than most boys, with his curly hair parted in the middle and with a gentle tang to his voice that makes him almost girlish, who would suspect Nat of having a stolen passkey in his pocket and a pretty fair knowledge of the contents of almost every top bureau drawer in the hotel, not Mrs. Sarah Kingdon, a widow just arrived from Philadelphia and desperately gone on young Mr. George Morroway, also fresh from Philadelphia, and desperately gone on Mrs. Kingdon's money. The tips that lady gave the bad boy, Nat. I knew I couldn't make you believe it any other way. That's why I passed him on to you, Tommy boy. The hotel woman you know, girls, is a hotel woman because she isn't fit to be anything else.  She actually, you can understand and share my indignation, can't you, Tom, as you've shared other things.  But her vanity, ah, there's where we get her. Such speculators as you and myself. She's got to outshine the woman who sits at the next table, and so she borrows her diamonds from the clerk, wears them like the peacock she is, and trembles till they're back in the safe again. In the meantime, she locks them up in the tin box, which she puts in her top bureau drawer, hides the key, forgets where she hid it, and, oh, Tom, after searching for it for hours and making herself sick with anxiety, she ties up her head in a wet handkerchief with vinegar on it and rings the bell for the bell-boy. He comes. As I said, he's a prompt gentle little bell-boy, slight, looks rather young for his job, but that very youth and innocence of his make him such a fellow to trust. Nat, says Mrs. Kingdon, tearfully pressing half a dollar into the nice lad's hand. I, I've lost something, and I want you to help me find it. Yesum, says Nat. He's the soul of politeness. It must be here. It must be in this room, says the lady, getting wild with the terror of losing. I'm sure positive that I went straight to the shoe bag and slipped it in there, and now I can't find it, and I must have it before I go out this afternoon for a very special reason. My daughter Evelyn will be home tomorrow, and why don't you look for it? What is it, ma'am? I told you once, my key, a little flat key that locks a box I've got. She finishes distrustfully. Have you looked in the shoe bag, ma'am?  I want you to hunt other places where I can't easily get. There are other places I might have put it, but I'm positive it was in the shoe bag. Well, I looked for that key. Where? Where not? I looked under the rubbish in the waste paper basket. Mrs. Kingdon often fooled thieves by dropping it there. I pulled up the corner of the carpet and looked there. It was loose. It had often been used for a hiding place. I looked in Miss Evelyn's boot and in her ribbon box. I emptied Mrs. Kingdon's full powder box. I climbed ladders and felt along cornices. I looked through the pockets of Mrs. Kingdon's gowns. A clever bellboy it takes to find a woman's pocket, but even the real masculine ones among them are half feminine. They've had so much to do with women. I rummaged through her writing desk and in searching a gold-cornered pad found a note from Moraway hidden under the corner. I hid it again carefully in my coat pocket. A love letter from Moraway to a woman 20 years older than himself taint a bad lay, Tom Dorgan, but you needn't try it. At first she watched every move I made, but later as her headache grew worse she got desperate. So then I put my hand down into the shoe bag and found the key where it slipped under a fold of cloth. Do you suppose that woman was grateful? She snatched it from me. I knew it was there. I told you it was there. If you'd had any sense you'd have looked there first.  That's all, ma'am? She nodded. She was fitting the key into the black box she'd taken from the top drawer. Nat had got to the outside door when he heard her come shrieking after him. Nat, Nat, come back. My diamonds, they're not here. I know I put them back last night. I'm positive. I could swear to it. I can see myself putting them in the chamois bag and oh my God, where can they be? This time they're gone. Nat could have told her, but what's the use? He felt she'd only lose them again if she had them, so he let them lie snug in his trousers pocket where he had put the chamois bag when his eyes lit on it under the corner of the carpet. He might have passed it over to her then, but you see, Tom, she hadn't told him to look for a bag. It was a key she wanted.  This time she followed his every step. He could not put his hand on the smallest thing without rousing her suspicion. If he hesitated, she scolded. If he hurried, she fumed. Most unjust, I call it, because he had no thought of stealing just then. Come, she said at last. We'll go down and report it at the desk. Hadn't I better wait here, ma'am, and look again? She looked sharply at him. No, you'd better do just as I tell you. So down we went, and we met Mr. Morroway there. She'd telephoned him. The chambermaid was called, the housekeeper, the electrical engineer who'd been fixing bells that morning, and as I said, a bell boy named Nat, who told how he'd just come on duty when Mrs. Kingdon's bell rang, found her key and returned it to her, and was out of the room when she unlocked the box. That was all he knew. Is he telling the truth? Morroway asked Mrs. Kingdon. Yes, I guess he is, but where are the diamonds? We must have them, you know. Today, George, she whispered, and then she turned and went upstairs, leaving Morroway to do the rest. There's only one thing to do, Major, he said to the proprietor. Search them all, and then. Search me, it's an outrage, cried the housekeeper. Search me if you like, growled McCarthy resentfully. I wasn't there but a minute, the lady herself can tell you that. Katie the chambermaid flushed painfully, and there were indignant tears in her eyes, which I'll tell you in confidence made a girl named Nancy uncomfortable. But the boy, Nat, knowing that bell boys have no rights, said nothing, but he thought. He thought, Tom Dorgan, a lot of things and a long way ahead. The peppery old Major marched us all off to his private office. Not much girls had hadn't come, for suddenly the enunciator rang out. Out of the corner of his eye, Nat looked at the bell boys bench. It was empty. There was to be a ball that night, and the bells were going at over all the place. Number 21, shot of the clerk at the desk. But number 21 didn't budge.  Number 21, yelled the clerk. Oh, he's got a devil of a temper has that clerk. Someday, Tom, when you love me very much, go up to the hotel and break his face for me.  He shouted. That time he caught the Major's ear, the one that wasn't deaf. He looked from power's black face to the bench, and then to me, and all the time the bell kept ringing like mad. Get, he said to the boy, and come back in a hurry. Number 21 got, but leisurely. It wouldn't do for a bellboy to hurry, particularly when he had such good cause. Oh, girls, those stone stairs, the servant's stairs at the St. James, they're fierce.  For there were those diamonds in my pants pocket, and I must get rid of them before I got down to the office again. So I climbed those stairs, and every step I took my eye was searching for a hiding place. I could have pitched the little bag out of a window, but Nancy Oldham wasn't throwing diamonds to the birds. Any more than Mag here is likely to cut off the braids of red hair we used to play horse with when we drove her about the cruelty yard. One flight, no chance. Another, everything bare as stone and soap could keep it. The third flight, my knees began to tremble and not with climbing. The call came from this floor, but I ran up a fourth just on the chance, and there in a corner was a fire hatchet strapped to the wall. Behind that hatchet, Mrs. Kingdon's diamonds might lie snug till evening. I put the ends of my fingers first in the little crack to make sure the little bag wouldn't drop to the floor, and then dived into my pocket and, and there behind me stealthily coming up the last turn of the stairs was Mr. George Moraway.  That cute fellow was cuter than the old major himself, and had followed me every inch of the way. There's something loose with this hatchet, sir, I said innocently, looking down at him. Oh, there is.  Never mind the hatchet, just tell me what number you were sent to answer. Number? I repeated as though I couldn't see why he wanted to know. Why, 431. Not much, my boy, 331. Excuse me, sir, ain't you mistaken? He looked at me for full a minute. I stared him straight in the eye, a nasty eye he's got, black and bloodshot and cold and full of suspicion, but it wavered a bit at the end. I may be, he said slowly, but not about the number. Just you turn around and get down to 331. All right, sir, thank you very much. It might have got me in trouble. The ladies are so particular about having the bells answered quick. I guess you'll get in trouble, all right, he said and stood watching. From where he stood he could watch me every inch of the way, till I got to 331 at the end of the hall, Mrs. Kingdon's door. And the good's still on me, Tom, mind that. My but Mrs. Kingdon was wrathy when she saw me. Why did they send you? She cried. Why did you keep me waiting so long? I want a chambermaid, I've rung a dozen times. The whole place is crazy about that old ball tonight and no one can get decent attention. Can't I do what you want, ma'am? I just yearned to get inside that door. No, she snapped. I don't want a boy to fasten my dress in the back. We often do, ma'am, I said softly. You do? Well, yes, I'm, I breathed again. Well, it's indecent, go down and send me a maid. She was just closing the door in my face and more away waiting for me to watch me down again. Mrs. Kingdon, well, what do you want? I want to tell you that when I get down to the office, they'll search me. She looked at me amazed.  What in the world, my diamonds?  She caught hold of my coat, but Lordy, I didn't want to get away a little bit.  Diamonds, oh no, ma'am, I hope I'm not a thief, but it was something you dropped, this. I fished more ways later out of my pocket and handed it to her.  This one at evening after her face had been massaged for an hour and the manicure girl and the hairdresser had gone wasn't so bad.   I suppose you've told everybody in the office. How could I, ma'am? How could you? She looked up, the tears on her flabby flush cheek. I didn't know myself, I can't read writing. It was thin, but she wanted to believe it. She could have taken me in her arms, she was so happy. There, there, she patted my shoulder and gave me a dollar bill. I was a bit hasty, Nat. It's only a little business matter that Mr. Morroway's attending to for me. We will finish it up this afternoon. I shouldn't like Miss Kingdon to know of it because I never like to worry her about business, you know, so don't mention it when she comes tomorrow. Noam, shall I fashion your dress? I simply had to stay in that room till I could get rid of those diamonds. With a faded old blush, the nicest thing about her I'd ever seen, she turned her back. It's dark today, ma'am, I coaxed. Would you mind coming nearer the window? No, she wouldn't mind.  While I hooked with one hand, I dropped the little bag where the carpet was still turned up and with the toe of my shoe, spread it flat again. You're real handy for a boy, she said, pleased. Thank you, ma'am, I answered. Pleased myself. Moreway was still watching me, of course, when I came out, but I ran downstairs, he following close, and when the major got hold of me, I pulled my pockets inside out like a little man. Moreway was there at the time. I knew he wasn't convinced, but he couldn't watch a bellboy all day long and the moment I was sure his eyes were off me, I was ready to get those diamonds back again. But not a call came all that afternoon from the west side of the house except the call of those pretty precious things snug under the carpet, calling, calling to me to come and get them and drop bellboying for good. At last, I couldn't stand it any longer. There's only one thing to do when your chance won't come to you, that is to go to it. At about four o'clock, I lit out, climbed to the second story, and there, mag, I always was the luckiest girl at the cruelty, wasn't I? Well, there was sweet 231, all torn up, plumbers and painters in there and nothing in the world to prevent a boy's skinning through when no one was watching out of the window and up the fire escape. Just outside of Mrs. Kingdon's window, I lay still a minute. I had seen her and Moreway go out together. She all gave with finery, he carrying her bag. The lace curtains in 231 were blowing in the breeze. Cautiously, I parted them and looked in. Everything was lovely. From where I lay, I reached down and turned back the flap of the carpet. It was too easy. Those darling diamonds seemed just to leap up into my hand. In a moment, I had them tucked away in my pants pocket. Then down the fire escape and out through 231, where I told the painter I'd been to get a toy, the boy in 441 had dropped out of the window. But he paid no attention to me. No one did though I felt those diamonds shining like an x-ray through my very body. I got downstairs and was actually outside the door, almost in the street and off to you when a girl called me. Here, boy, carry this case, she said. Do you know who it was? Oh, yes you do. A dear old friend of mine from Philadelphia. A young lady whose taste. Well, all right, I'll tell you. It was the girl with the red coat and the hat with the chinchilla fur. How did they look? Oh, fairly well on a blonde. But to my taste, the last girl I'd seen in the coat and hat was handsomer. Well, I carried her suitcase and followed her back into the hotel. I didn't want to a bit, though that coat's still. Wonder how she got it back. She sailed up the hall and into the elevator and I had to follow. We got off at the third story and she brought me right to the door of 331 and then I knew this must be Evelyn. Mrs. Kingdon's out, Miss. She didn't expect you till tomorrow. Did she tell you that? Too bad she isn't at home. She said she'd be kept busy all day today with the business matter and that I'd better not get here till tomorrow. But I wanted to get here in time for the wedding. I suggested softly. You should have seen her jump. Wedding? Not Mrs. Kingdon and Mr. Morroway. She turned white. Has that man followed her here? Quick, tell me. Has she actually married him? No, not yet. It's for five o'clock at the church on the corner. How do you know? She turned on me suddenly suspicious. Well, I do know and I'm the only person in the house that does. I don't believe you. She took out her key and opened the door and I followed her in with a suitcase but before I could get it set down on the floor she had swooped on a letter that was lying in the middle of the table, had torn it open and then with a cry had come whirling toward me. Where is this church? Come help me to get to it before five and I'll, oh you shall have anything in the world you want. She flew out into the hall, eye after her and first thing you know we were down in the street around the corner and there in front of the church was a carriage with Morroway just helping Mrs. Kingdon out. Mother. At that cry the old lady's knees seemed to crumble under her. Her poor old painted face looked out ghastly and ashamed from her wedding finery but Evelyn in her red coat flew to her and took her in her arms as though she was a child and like a child Mrs. Kingdon sobbed and made excuses and begged to be forgiven. I looked at Morroway, it was all the pay I wanted particularly as I had those little diamonds. You were just in time Mrs. Kingdon, he said uneasily to make your mother happy by your presence at her wedding. I'm just in time Mr. Morroway to see that my mother is not made unhappy by your presence. Evelyn, Mrs. Kingdon remonstrated. Come Sarah, Morroway offered his arm. The bride shook her head. Tomorrow, she said feebly. Morroway breathed a swear. Miss Kingdon laughed.  It won't be tomorrow Mr. Morroway. No, not tomorrow, next week, sighed Mrs. Kingdon. In fact, mothers changed her mind Mr. Morroway. She thinks it's ungenerous to accept such a sacrifice from a man who might be her son, don't you mother? Well, perhaps, George. She looked up from her daughter's shoulder. She was crying all over that precious red coat of mine and her eyes lit on me.  She gasped. You did read my letter. I laughed. Laughed out loud it was such a bully thing to watch Morroway's face. But that was an unlucky laugh of mine. It turned his wrath on me. He made a dive toward me. I ducked and ran. Oh how I ran. But if he hadn't slipped on the curb he'd have had me. As he fell though he let out a yell. Stop thief, stop thief, thief, thief, thief. May you never hear it mag behind you when you've somebody else's diamonds in your pocket. It sounds, it sounds the way the bay of the hounds must sound to the hare.  I heard it bellowed in a dozen different voices and every now and then I could hear Morroway as I pelted on that brassy cruel bellow of his that made my heart sick. And then all at once I heard a policeman's whistle. That whistle was like a signal. I saw the gates of the correction open before me. I saw your nance Tom in a neat striped dress and she was behind bars, bars, bars. There were bars everywhere before me. In fact I felt them against my very hands for in my mad race I had shot up a blind alley, a street that ended in a garden behind an iron fence. I grabbed the diamonds to throw them from me but I couldn't, I just couldn't. I jumped the fence where the gate was low and with that whistle flying shrill and shriller after me I ran to the house. I might have jumped from the frying pan. Of course I might, but it was all fire to me. To be caught at the end is at least no worse than to be caught at the beginning. Anyhow it was my one chance and I took it as unhesitatingly as a rat takes a leap into a trap to escape a terrier. Only it was my luck that the trap wasn't set. The room was empty. I pushed open a glass door and fell over an open trunk that stood beside it. It bruised my knee and tore my hand but oh, it was nuts to me. For it was a woman's trunk filled with women's things. A skirt, a blessed skirt and not a striped one. I threw off the Bell Boy's jacket and I got into that deer dress so quick it made my head swim. The jacket was a bit tight but I didn't button it and I just got a stiff little hat perched on my head when I heard the tramp of men on the sidewalk and then the dusk saw the cop's buttons at the gate. Caught? Not much. Not yet. I threw open the glass doors and walked out into the garden. Miss Omar? I wonder if it would be Miss Omar? You bet I didn't take time to see who it was talking before I answered. Of course I was Miss Omar. I was Miss Anybody that had a right to wear skirts and be inside those blessed gates. Ah, I fancied you might be. I've been expecting you. It was a lazy low voice with a laugh in it and it came from a wheeled chair where a young man lay. Sallow he was and slim and long and helpless. You could see that by his white hanging hands. But his voice, it was what a woman's voice would be if she were a man. It made you perk up and pretend to be somewhere near its level. It fitted his soft black clothes and his fine clean face. It meant silks and velvets Oh, all right, Tommy Dorgan, if you're going to get jealous of a voice. Excuse me, Mr. Latimer. The cop came in as he spoke, more away following. The rest of the hounds hung about. There's a thieving bellboy from the hotel that's somewhere in your grounds. Can I come in and get him? In here, Sergeant, aren't you mistaken? No, Mr. Moreway here saw him jump the gate, not five minutes since. Strange, and I hear all the time. I may have dosed, though. Certainly, certainly. Look for the little rascal. What's he stolen? Diamonds? Tut-tut. Enterprising, isn't he? Miss Omar, won't you kindly reach the bell yonder? No, on the table, that's it, and ring for someone to take the officer about? I rang. Do you know what happened? An electric light strung on the tree above the table, shone out, and there I stood under it with Moreway's eyes full upon me. Great, he began. Just ring again, Mr. Latimer's voice came soft as silk. My fingers trembled so, the bell clattered out of them and fell jangling to the ground, but it rang, and the light above me went out like magic. I fell back into a garden chair. I beg your pardon, Mr. Moreway, the name?  Miss Omar, I thought the housekeeper had instructed you. One ring means lights, two mean I want Burnett. Here he comes. Burnett, take Sergeant Mulhill through the place. He's looking for a thief. You will accompany the sergeant, Mr. Moreway? Thank you, no, if you don't mind, I'll wait out here. That meant me. I moved toward the gate. Not at all, have a seat. Miss Omar, sit down, won't you? I sat down. Miss Omar reads to me, Mr. Moreway. I'm an invalid, as you see, dependent on the good offices of my man. I find a woman's voice a soothing change. It must be, particularly if the voice is pleasing. Miss Omar, I didn't quite catch the name. He waited, but Miss Omar had nothing to say that minute. Yes, that's the name. You've got it all right, said Latimer. An uncommon name, isn't it? I don't think I've ever heard it before.  I said as sweet, as sweet as I could coax. How sweet's that, Tom Dorgan? Not at all. A little laugh came from Latimer, as though he was enjoying a joke all by himself. But Moreway jumped with satisfaction. He knew the voice all right. Have you a brother, may I ask? He leaned over and looked keenly at me. I am an orphan, I said sadly, with no relatives. A pitiful position, sneered Moreway. You look so much like a boy, I know, that... Do you really think so? So awfully polite was Latimer to such a rat as Moreway. Why? Well, wait. I can't agree with you. Do you know I find Miss Omar very feminine? Of course, short hair. Her hair is short then. Typhoid, I murmured. Too bad, Moreway sneered. Yes, I snapped. I thought it was at the time. My hair was very heavy and long, and I had a chance to sit in a window at Troyans, where they were advertising a hair tonic and... Rotten? Of course it was. I had no business to gavel, and just because you and your new job, Mag, came to my mind at that minute, there I went, putting my foot in it. Moreway laughed. I didn't like the sound of his laugh. Your reader is versatile, Mr. Latimer, he said. Yes. Latimer smoothed the soft silk rug that lay over him. Poverty and that sort of versatility are often bedfellows, eh? Tell me, Mr. Moreway, these lost diamonds are yours. No, they belong to a friend of mine, Mrs. Kingdon. Oh, the old lady who was married this afternoon to a young fortune hunter. I couldn't resist it. Moreway jumped out of his seat. She was not married, he stuttered. She changed her mind, how sensible of her. Did she find out what a crook the fellow was? What was his name, Morrison? No, Middleway. I have heard it. May I ask, Miss Omar? I didn't have to see his face. His voice told how mad with rage he was. How do you come to be acquainted with a matter that only the contracting parties could possibly know of? Why, they can't have kept it very secret. The old lady in the young rascal who was after her money, for you see we both knew of it, and I wasn't the bride and you certainly weren't the groom, were you? An exclamation burst from him. Mr. Latimer, he stormed. May I see you a moment alone? Phew, that meant me, but I got up just the same. Just keep your seat, Miss Omar. Oh, that silken voice of Latimer's. Mr. Moreway, I have absolutely no acquaintance with you. I never saw you till tonight. I can't imagine what you may have to say to me that my secretary, Miss Omar acts in that capacity, may not hear. I want to say, burst from Moreway, that she looks the image of that boy Nat who stole Mrs. Kingdon's diamonds, that the voice is exactly the same that, but you have said it, Mr. Moreway. Quite successfully intimated it, I assure you. She knows of Mrs. Kingdon's marriage that that boy Nat found out about. And you yourself also, as Miss Omar mentioned. Myself, dammit, I'm Moreway the man she was going to marry. Why shouldn't I? Ah, Latimer's shoulders shook with a gentle laugh. Well, Mr. Moreway, gentlemen, don't swear in my garden, particularly when ladies are present. Shall we say good evening? Here comes Mulhill now, nothing, Sergeant? Too bad the rogue escaped, but you'll catch him. They may get away from you, but they never stay long, do they? Good evening, good evening, Mr. Moreway. They tramped on and out, Moreway's very back showing his rage. He whispered something to the sergeant who turned to look at me but shook his head and the gate clanged after them. A long sigh escaped me. Warm, isn't it? Latimer leaned forward. Now would you mind ringing again, Miss Omar? I bent and groped for the bell and rang it twice. How quick you are to learn, he said. But I really wanted the light this time. Just light up, Burnett. He called to the man who had come out on the porch. The electric bulb flashed out again just over my head. Latimer turned and looked at me. When I couldn't bear it any longer, I looked defiantly up at him. Pardon, he said, smiling. Nice teeth he has and clear eyes. I was just looking for that boyish resemblance Mr. Moreway spoke of. I hold to my first opinion. You're very feminine, Miss Omar. Will you read to me now, if you please? He pointed to a big open book on the table beside his couch. I think if you don't mind, Mr. Latimer, I'll begin the reading tomorrow. I got up to go. I was through with that garden now. But I do mind. Silk and voice, not a bit of it. I turned on him so furious, I thought I didn't care what came of it. Went over by the great gate post, I saw a man crouching, Moreway. I sat down again and pulled the book farther toward the light. We didn't learn much poetry at the cruelty, did we, Mag? But I know some now, just the same. When I began to read, I heard only one word. Moreway, Moreway, Moreway. But I must have forgotten him after a time, and the dark garden with the light on, only one spot, and the roses smelling, and Latimer lying perfectly still.  Listen, I bet I can remember that part of it if I say it slow. Oh, thou, who man of baser earth dismake, and even with paradise devise the snake, for all the sin wherewith the face of man is blackened, man's forgiveness give and take. When all at once Mr. Latimer put his hand on the book, I looked up with a start, the shadow by the gate was gone. Beyond rising moon that looks for us again, how oft hereafter will she wax and wane, how oft hereafter rising look for us through this same garden, and for one in vain. Latimer was saying it without the book, and with a queer smile that made me feel I hadn't quite caught on. Thank you, that will do, he went on. That is enough, Miss. He stopped. I waited. He did not say Omar. I looked him square in the eye, and then I had enough. But what in the devil did you make believe for? I asked. He smiled. If ever you come to lie on your back day and night, year in and year out, and know that never in your life will it be any different, you may take pleasure in a bit of excitement and learn to pity the underdog, who in this case happened to be a boy that leaped over the gate as though his heart was in his mouth, just as you would admire the nerve of the young lady that came out of the house a few minutes after in your housekeeper's Sunday gown. Yes, grin, Tom Dorgan, you won't grin long. I put down the book and got up to go. Good night, then, and thank you, Mr. Latimer. Good night, oh, Miss, he didn't say Omar. There is a favor you might do me. Sure, I wondered what it could be. Those diamonds, I've got to have them, you know, to send them back to their owner. I don't mind helping a person who helps himself to other people's things, but I can't let him get away with his plunder without being that kind of person myself, so why didn't I lie? Because there are some people you don't lie to, Tom Dorgan.   Reform her, I snarled. Show her how to get diamonds honestly. Say, Tom, let's go in for bigger game. End of chapter two. Chapter three of In the Bishop's Carriage. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leanne Howlett. In the Bishop's Carriage by Miriam Michelson. Chapter three. Oh, mag, mag, for heaven's sake, let me talk to you. No, don't say anything. You must let me tell you. No, don't call the other girls. I can't bear to tell this to anybody but you. You know how I kicked when Tom hit on Latimer's as the place we were to scuttle, and the harder I kicked the stubborner he got till he swore he'd do the job without me if I wouldn't come along. Well, this is the rest of it. The house, you know, stands at the end of the street. If you could walk through the garden with the iron fence, you'd come right down the bluff onto the docks and out into East River. Tom and I came up to it from the docks last night. It was dark and wet, you remember. The mud was thick on my trousers. Nance Olden's a boy every time when it comes to doing business. We'll blow it all in, Tom, I said as we climbed. We'll spend a week at the Waldorf and then Tom Dorgan will go to Paris.  I can't, I'm so fidgety, I must talk or I'll shriek.   Look here, Nance, are you going to flunk? Say it now, yes or no? That made me mad. Tom Dorgan, I said, I'll bet your own teeth chattered the first time you went in for a thing like this. I'm all right, you'll squill before I do. That's more like, here's the gate, it's locked. Come, Nance. With a good strong swing he boosted me over, handed me the bag of tools and sprang over himself. He looked kind to handsome and fine my Tom as he lit square and light on his feet beside me. And because he did, I put my arm in his and gave it a squeeze. Oh, Mag, it was so funny going through Latimer's garden. There was the garden table where I had sat reading and thinking he took me for Miss Omar. There was the bench where that beast more away sat sneering at me. The wheelchair was gone and it was so late, everything looked asleep. But something was left behind that made me think I heard Latimer's slow, silken voice and made me feel cheap. Turned inside out like an empty pocket, a dirty ragged pocket with a seam in it. You'll stay here, Nancy, and watch, Tom whispered. You'll whistle once if a cop comes inside the gate but not before he's inside the gate. Don't whistle too soon, mind that, nor too loud. I'll hear you all right and I'll whistle just once if anything happens. Then you run, hear me, run like the devil. Tommy, well, what? Nothing, all right. I wanted to say goodbye, but you know, Tom. Mag, were you ever where you oughtn't to be at midnight alone? No, I know you weren't.  The red hair we used to guy so at the cruelty. I can see you now, a freckle face, thin little devil with a tangled hair to the very edge of your ragged skirt yanked in that first day to the cruelty when the neighbors complained you're crying when let them sleep nights. The old woman had just locked you in there, hadn't she, to starve when she let out. Mothers are queer, ain't they, when they are queer. I never remember mine. Yes, I'll go on. I stood it all right for a time out there alone in the night, but I never was one to wait patiently. I can't wait, it isn't in me. But there I had to stand and just, God, just wait. If I hadn't waited so hard at the very first, I wouldn't have given out so soon. But I stood so still and listened so terribly hard that the trees began to whisper and the bushes to crack and creep. I heard things in my head and ears that weren't sounding anywhere else. And all of a sudden, tramp, tramp, tramp, I heard the cop's footsteps. He stopped over there by the swinging electric light above the gate. I crouched down behind the iron bench and my coat caught a twig on a bush and its crack was like a yell. I thought I'd die, I thought I'd scream, I thought I'd run, I thought I'd faint. But I didn't, for there, a sleep on a rug that someone had forgotten to take in was the house cat. I gave her a quick slap and she flew out and across the path like a flash. The cop watched her, his hand on the gate, and passed on. Magmonahan, if Tom had come out that minute without a bean and gone home with me, I'd been so relieved I'd never have tried again. But he didn't come, nothing happened. Nights and nights and nights went by and the stillness began to sound again. My throat went choking mad. I began to shiver and I reached for the rug the cat had lain on. Funny how some things strike you. This was Latimer's rug. I had noticed it that evening, a warm, soft, mottled green that looked like silk and fur mixed. I could see the way his long, white hands looked on it and as I touched it I could hear his voice. O thou, who man of baser earth didst make and even with paradise devised the snake for all the sin wherewith the face of man is blackened, man's forgiveness give and take. Ever hear a man like that say a thing like that? No? Well, it's different. It's as if the river had spoken or a tree, it's so different. That saved me, that verse that I remembered. I said it over and over and over again to myself. I fitted it to the ferry whistles on the bay, to the cop's steps as they passed again, to the roar of the L train and the jangling of the surface cars. And right in the middle of it, every drop of blood in my body seemed to leak out of me and then come rushing back to my head, I heard Tom's whistle. Oh, it's easy to say run and I really meant it when I promised Tom but you see I hadn't heard that whistle then. When it came it changed everything. It set the devil in me loose. I felt as if the world was tearing something of mine away from me. Stand for it, not Nance Olden. I did run but it was toward the house. That whistle may have meant go. To me it yelled come. I got in through the window Tom had left open. The place was still quiet. Nobody inside had heard that whistle so far as I could tell. I crept along. The carpets were thick and soft and silky as the rug I'd had my hands buried in to keep them warm. Along a long hall and through a great room whose walls were thick with books I was making for a light I could see at the back of the house. That's where Tom Dorgan must be and where I must be to find out, to know. With my hands out in front of me I hurried but softly and just as I had reached the porchars below which the light streamed my arms closed about a thing. Cold as marble. Naked. I thought it was a dead body upright there and with a cry I pitched forward through the curtains into the lighted room. Nance, you devil. You recognize it? Yep, it was Tom. Big Tom Dorgan at the foot of Latimer's bed. His hands above his head and Latimer's gun aimed right at his heart. Think of the pluck of that cripple, will you?  You are something of a thankless devil I must admit, Miss Omar, he said. I didn't say anything. You don't say things in answer to things like that. You feel them. Ashamed? What do I care for a man with a voice like that? But you should have heard how Tom's growl sounded after it.  I couldn't, Tom. I just couldn't, I sobbed. There seems invariably to be a misunderstanding of signals where Miss Omar is concerned also a disposition to use strong language in the lady's presence. Don't you, young man?  I blazed, stamping my foot. He laughed a contemptuous laugh. I could have killed him then, I hated him so. At least I thought I could. But just then Tom sent a spark out of the corner of his eye to me that meant, that meant, you know, Mag, what it would have meant to Latimer if I had done what Tom's eye said. I thought at first I had done it. It passed through my mind so quick. The sweet words I'd say, the move I'd make, the quick knocking up of the pistol, and then it was that, that side of Tom, big Tom Dorgan with rage in his heart and death in his hand leaping on that cripple's body. It made me sick. I stood there gasping, stood a moment too long, for the curtains were pushed aside and Burnett Latimer's servant and the cop came in. Tom didn't fight. He's no fool to waste himself. But I, well, never mind about me. I caught a glimpse of a crazy white face on a boy's body and the great glass opposite and heard my own voice break into something I'd never heard before. Tom stood at last with the handcuffs on.  You lie, Mag, monahan, he's no such thing. He may be a hard man to live with, but he's mine, my Tom, my Tom. What, Latimer? Well, do you know what's funny about him? He told the cop that I peached, peached on Tom, so they went off without me. Why? That's what he said himself when we were alone. In order to ensure for myself another of your most interesting visits, I suppose, miss, not Omar. All right, tell me, can I do nothing for you?  Get Tom out of jail. He shook his head.  I don't want any friend that isn't Tom's. He threw the pistol from him and pulled himself up till he sat looking at me. In heaven's name, what can you see in a fellow like that? What's that to you, I turn to go. To me, things of that sort are nothing, of course, to me. Me, that luckless pot he marred in making. But tell me, can a girl like you tell the truth? What made you hesitate when that fellow told you with his eyes to murder me? How did you know? How? The glass. See over yonder. I could watch every expression on both your faces. What was it? What was it, child, that made you? Oh, if you owe me a single heartbeat of gratitude, tell me the truth. You've said it yourself. What? That line we read the other night about the luckless pot. His face went gray and he fell back on his pillows. The strenuous life we'd been leading him, Tom and I, was too much for him, I guess. Do you know, I really felt sorry I'd said it. But he is a cripple. Did he expect me to say he was big and strong and dashing like Tom? I left him there and got out in a way. But do you know what I saw Mag beside his bed just as Burnett came to put me out? My old blue coat with the buttons, the bellboys coat I'd left in the housekeeper's room when I borrowed her Sunday rig. The coat was hanging over a chair and right by it on a table. Was that big book with a picture covering every page still open at that verse about? Through the same garden and for one in vain. End of chapter three. Chapter four of In the Bishop's Carriage. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leanne Howlett. In the Bishop's Carriage by Miriam Michelson. Chapter four. No, no, no. No more whining from Nance Olden. Listen to what I've got to tell you, Mag, listen.  Yep, from that little rat-eyed lawyer's office. I was glum as mud. I felt as though Tom and myself were both flies caught by the leg. He by the law and I by the lawyer in a sticky mess and the more we flapped our wings and struggled and pulled, the more we hurt and tore ourselves and the sooner we'd have to give it up. Oh, that wizened-faced little lawyer that lives on the Tom Dorgans and the Nance Oldens who don't know which way to turn to get the money. He looks at me out of his red little eyes and measures in dollars what I'd do for Tom and then he sets his price a notch higher than that. When I passed the big department store next to Troyin's, I was thinking of this and I turned in there just aching for some of the bootle that flaunts itself on a poor girl's face when she's desperate, from every silk and satin rag, from every lace and jewel in the place. The funny part of it is that I didn't want it for myself but for Tom. Pun my soul, Mag, though I would have filled my arms with everything I saw, I wouldn't have put on one thing of all the duds, just hiked off to soak them and pay the lawyer. I might have been as old and ugly and rich as the yellow-skinned woman opposite me who was turning over laces on the middle counter for all these things meant to me with Tom in jail. I was thinking this as I looked at her, what all at once I saw. You know, it takes a pretty quick touch, sharp eyes and good nerve to get away with the goods in a big shop like that or it takes something altogether different. It was the different way she did it. She took up the piece of lace. It was a big collar, fine like a cobweb picture in threads. You can guess what it must have been worth if that old sinner or mother-doughty gave me $15 for it. She took it up in a quick eager way as though she'd found just what she wanted. Then she took out a lace sample from her gold-linked purse and held them both up close to her blinky little eyes, looking at it through a gold lornette with emeralds in the handle, pulling it and feeling it with the air of one who knows a fine thing when she sees it and just what makes it fine. Then she rustled off to the door to examine it closely in the light and, Mag Monahan, she walked right out with it. At least she'd got beyond the inner doors when I tapped her on the shoulder. I beg pardon, madam, my best style, Mag. She pulled herself up hotly and blinked at me. She was a little thin mummy of a woman, just wrapped away in silks and velvets, but on the inside of that nervous little old body of hers there must have been some spring of good material that wasn't all unwound yet. She stood blinking at me without a word. That lace, you haven't paid for it, I said.  Her yellow face grew ghastly. Oh, mercy, you don't. I am a detective for the store and... But, shh, we don't like any noise made about these things and you yourself wouldn't enjoy. Do you know who I am, young woman? She fumbled in her satchel and passed a card to me. Glory be, guess, Mag. Oh, you'd never guess, you dear old Mag. Besides, you haven't got the acquaintance in high society that Nance Olden can boast. Mrs. Mills D. Van Wagonen. Oh, Mag, shame on you not to know the name even of the bishop of the great state of, yes, the lean short little bishop with a little white beard and the softest eye and the softest heart and my very own bishop, Nancy Olden's bishop, and this was his wife. Tut, tut, Mag, of course not. A bishop's wife may be a kleptomaniac. It's only cruelty girls that really steal from stores. I've met the bishop, Mrs. Van Wagonen. I didn't say how. She wouldn't appreciate that story. And he was once very kind to me, but he would be the first to tell me to do my duty now. I'll do it as quietly as I can for his sake, but you must come with me or I must arrest.  Don't, don't say it. It's all a mistake which can be rectified in a moment. I've been trying to match this piece of lace for years. I got a dipmalta when Mills and I on our honeymoon. When I saw it there on the counter, I was so delighted. I never thought. I intended taking it to the light to be sure the pattern was the same. My eyesight is so wretched. And when you spoke to me, it was the first inkling I had that I had really taken it without paying. You certainly understand. She pleaded in agitation. I have no need to steal. You must know that. Oh, that I wouldn't. That I couldn't. If you will just let me pay you. Here now, Magmonahan, don't you get to sneering. She was straight, right on the level all right. You couldn't listen to that crack little voice of hers a minute without being sure of it. I was just about to permit her graciously to pay me the money. For my friend, the dear Bishop's sake, of course, when a big floor walker happened to catch sight of us. If you'll come with me, Mrs. Van Wagon, into addressing a room I'll arrange your collar for you, I said very loud, and then in a whisper. Of course I understand, but the thing may look different to other people, and that big floor walker there gets a commission from the newspapers every time he tells them. She gave a squawk for all the world, like a dried-up little hen scuttling out of a yellow dog's way, and we took the elevator to the second floor. The minute I closed the door of the little fitting room, she held out the lace to me. I have changed my mind, she said, and she'll give you the lace back. I will not keep it. I cannot bear the sight of it. It terrifies me and shocks me. I can take no pleasure in it. Besides, it will be discipline for me to do without it now that I have found that after all these years, every day I shall look at the place in my collection which it would have occupied, and I shall say to myself, Maria Van Wagon, in take warning, see to what terrible straits a worldly passion may bring one, what unconscious greed may do. I shall give the money to mills for charity, and I will never, never fill that place in my collection. What good will that do? I asked, puzzled, while I folded the collar up into a very small package. You mean that I ought to submit to the exposure that I deserve the lesson and the punishment, not for stealing, but for being absorbed in worldly things? Perhaps you are right. It certainly shows that you have it some time but under mills' spiritual care, my dear. I wonder if he would insist, whether I ought. Yes, I suppose he would. Oh, a saleswoman's head was thrust in the door. Excuse me, she said. I thought the room was empty. We've just finished trying on, I said, sweetly. Don't go. The bishop's wife turned to her, her little fluttering hands held out appealingly. And do not misunderstand me. The thing may seem wrong in your eyes, as this young woman says, but if you will listen patiently to my explanations, I am sure you will see that it was a mere eager oversight, the fault of absent-mindedness, hardly the sin of covetousness, and surely not a crime. I am making this confession. The tender conscience of the dear, blameless little soul, she was actually giving herself away. Worse, she was giving me away, too. But I couldn't stand that. I saw the saleswoman's puzzled face.   I got behind little Mrs. Bishop and looking out over her head, I tapped my forehead significantly. The saleswoman tumbled. That was all right. But so did the bishop's wife, for she turned and caught me at it. You shall not save me from myself and what I deserve, she cried. I am perfectly sane and you know it, and you are doing me no favor in trying to create the contrary impression. I demand an interview with the manager, I interrupted. I'm sure Mrs. Van Wagonan can see the manager. Just go with the lady, Mrs. Van Wagonan, and I'll follow with the goods. She did it, meek as a lamb, talking all the time, but never beginning at the beginning, luckily for me, so that I had time to slip from one dressing room to the next with the lace up my sleeve out to the elevator and down into the street. Do you know what heaven must be, Mag? A place where you always get away with a swag and where it's always just the minute after you've made a killing. Cocky? Well, I should say I was. I was drunk enough with success to take big chances, and just while I was wishing for something really big to tackle, it came along in the shape of that big floor walker. He was without a hat and his eyes looked 50 ways at once, but you've got to look 51 if you want to catch an ant's olden. I ran up the stairs of the first flat house and rang the bell, and as I sailed up the elevator, I saw the big floor walker hurry past. He'd lost the scent. The boy let me off at the top floor, and after the elevator had gone down, I walked up to the roof. It was fine way up there, so still and high, with the lights coming out down in the town. And I took out my pretty lace collar and put it around my neck, wishing I could keep it and wishing that I had at least a glass to see myself in it just once. When my eye caught the window of the next house, it would do for a mirror all right, for the dark green shade was down, but it sighted the shade blowing in the wind I forgot all about the collar. It's this way, Mag, when they pressed you too far, and that little rat of a lawyer had got me most of the wall, I looked at the window, measuring the little climb it would be for me to get to it. The house next door was just one story higher than the one where I was, so its top story was on a level with the roof nearly where I stood, and I made up my mind to get what would let Tom off easy or break into jail myself. And so I didn't care much what I might fall into through that window, and perhaps because I didn't care, I slipped into a dark hall and not a thing stirred, not a footstep creaked. I felt like the princess. Princess Nancy Olden come to wake the sleeping beauty. Some dude it be that would have curly hair like Tom Dorrigan's and would wear clothes like my friend Latimer's over in Brooklyn. Can you see me there standing on one leg like a stork ready to lie or to fly at the first sound? Well, the first sound didn't come. Neither did the second. In fact, none of them came unless I made them myself. Softly as Molly goes when the babies just dropped off to sleep, I walked toward an open door. It was a parlor, smelly with tobacco and with lots of papers and books around, and nary a he beauty nor any other kind. I tried the door of a room next to it, a bedroom, but no beauty. Silly, don't you tumble yet? It was a bachelor's apartment and the bachelor beauty was out and Princess Nancy had the place all to herself. I suppose I really ought to have left my card or he wouldn't know who had waked him, but I hadn't intended to go calling when I left home. So I thought I'd look for one of his as a souvenir and anything else of his I could make use of. There were shirts I'd liked for Tom, dandy colored ones and suits with checks on them and without, but I wanted something easy and small and flat, made of crackly printed yellow or green paper with numbers on it. How did I know he had anything like that? Why, Mag, Mag, Monahan, one would think you belong to the Bishop set and you're so simple. I had to turn on the electric light after a bit. It got so dark and I don't like light in other people's houses when they're not at home and neither am I. But there was nothing in the bedroom except some pearl studs. I got those and then went back to the parlor. The desk caught my eye. Oh, Mag, it had the loveliest pictures on it, pictures of swell actresses and dancers. It was mahogany with lots of little drawers and two curvy side boxes. I pulled open all the drawers. They were full of papers all right, but they were printed, cut from newspapers and all about theaters. You can't feed things like this, Nance, to that shark of a lawyer, I said to myself, pushing the box on the side impatiently. And then I giggled out right. Why? Just cause. I had pushed that side box till it swung a side on hinges I didn't know about. And there, in a little secret nest, was a pile of those same crisp, crinkly paper things I'd been looking for. 20, 40, 60, 110, 160, 210, 260, 310. 310 dollars, Mag Monaghan, 310 and Nance Olden. Glory be, I whispered. Glory be damned, I heard behind me. I turned. The bills just leaked out of my hand onto the floor. The bachelor beauty had come home, Mag, and nabbed the poor princess instead of her catching him napping. He wasn't a beauty either.  His hand on my shoulder held me tight, but the look in his eyes behind his glasses held me tighter.  Caught.   Then he unhooked a telephone and lifted the stand from his desk. Hello? Spring, 3100, please. Hello? Chief's office? This is Obermauer, standard theater. I want an officer to take charge of a thief I've caught in my apartments here at the Bronsonia. Yes, right on the corner. Hold them till you come. Well, rather. He put down the phone. I pulled the pearl studs out of my pocket. You might as well take these too, I said. So thoughtful of you seeing that you'd be searched, but I'll take them anyway. You intended them for him? You didn't get anything else? I shook my head as I lay there. Hum.  I hated him for it as he sat leaning back on the back legs of his chair, his thumbs and his armholes. I felt his eyes, those smart, keen eyes, burning into my miserable head. I thought of the lawyer and the deal he'd give poor Tom and all at once. You'd have sniffled yourself, Magmonahan. There I was, caught. The cop had be after me in five minutes. With Tom jugged in me and stripes, it wasn't very jolly and I lost my nerve. Ashamed, huh? He said lightly. I nodded. I was ashamed. Pity you didn't get ashamed before you broke in here. What the devil was there to be ashamed of? The sting in his voice had cured me. I never was a weeper. I sat up, my face blazing and stared at him. He'd got me to hand over to the cop, but he hadn't got me to sneer at. I saw by the look he gave me that he hadn't really seen me till then. Well, he answered. What the devil is there to be ashamed of now? Of being caught, that's what.  Then you're not ashamed of your profession. Are you of yours? Well, there's a slight difference. Not much, whatever it may be. It's your graft, it's everybody's, to take all he can get and keep out of jail. That's mine too. But you see, I keep out of jail. I see you're not there yet. Oh, I think you needn't worry about that. I'll keep out, thank you. Imprisonment for debt don't go nowadays. Debt? I'm a theatrical manager, my girl, and I'm not on the inside, which is another way of saying that a man who can't swim has fallen overboard. And when you do go down, a little less exultation, my dear, or I might suppose you'd be glad when I do. Well, when you know yourself going down for the last time, do you mean to tell me you won't grasp at a straw like this? I nodded toward the open window on the desk with all its papers tumbling about. Not much. He shook his head and bit the end of a cigar with sharp white teeth. It's a fool graft. I'm self-respecting and I don't admire fools. He lit his cigar and puffed a minute, taking out his watch to look at it as cold-bloodedly as though we were waiting, he and I, to go to supper together. Oh, how I hated him. Honestly isn't the best policy, he went on. It's the only one. The vain fool that gets it into his head, or shall I say her head? No? Well, no offense, I assure you.  He's too big a J to be left out of doors. For 5,000 years, more or less, the world has been putting people like him behind bars where they can't make asses of themselves. Yet each year and every day and every hour, a new nanny is born who fancies he's cleverer than all his predecessors put together. Talk about suckers. Why their giants of intellect compared to the mentally lopsided that 5,000 years of experience can't teach. When the criminal clown's turn comes, he hops, skips, and jumps into the ring with the old, old gag. He thinks it's new because he himself is so fresh and green. Here I am again, he yells.  Others have tried it. They're dead in jail or under jail yards. But me, just watch me.  Bah. He puffed out the smoke throwing his head back in a cloud toward the ceiling. I sprang from my seat and faced him. I was tingling all through. I didn't care a wrap what became of me for just that minute. I forgot about Tom. I prayed that the cop wouldn't come for a minute yet, but only that I might answer him.  You can sit back here and sneer at me, can't you? And feel so big and smart and triumphant. What have you done but catch a girl at her first bungling job? It makes you feel awfully cocky, don't it?  Bah. I blew the smoke up toward the ceiling from my mouth with just that satisfied gall that he had had, or rather I pretended to.  And you don't know at all, Mr. Manager, not you.  He goes in for the same reason the real clown does, because he gets hungry and thirsty and sleepy and tired like other men.   No, you don't know it quite all. There's a girl named Nancy Olden that could tell you a lot, smart as you are. She could show you the inside of the cruelty where she was put so young she never knew that children had mothers and fathers till a red-haired girl named Magmonahan told her and then she was mighty glad she hadn't any.  She thought all women were like the matron who came with a visitor up to the bare room where we played without toys, the new dirty newly bruised ones of us and the old clean healing ones of us and said, here chicks is a lady who's come to see you. Tell her how happy you are here.  She was always afraid it might be her mother come for and the crippled boy jerked himself this way. I used to mimic him and he'd laugh for the rest of them over the bare floor. He always hoped for a penny. Sometimes he even got it.  He would hold his pants up like this. He had just come in and there was nothing to fit him. And he'd put his other hand over his bad eye and blink up at her like this.  You ought to have seen that littlest boy. He was in skirts, an old dress they'd given me to wear the first day I came. There were no pants small enough for him. He'd back up into the corner and hide his face like this and peep over his shoulder. He had a squint that way that made his face so funny. See it makes you laugh yourself, but his body, my God, it was blue with welts. And me, I'd put the baby down that had been left on the doorsteps of the cruelty and I'd waltz up to the lady, the nice patronizing rich lady with her handkerchief to her nose and her lorn yet to her eyes, see like this. I knew just what graft would work her. I knew what she wanted there. I'd learned. So I'd make her a curtsy like this. And in the pious sing song I'd, there was a heavy step out in the hall. It was the policeman. I'd forgot while I was talking. I was back, back in the empty garret at the top of the cruelty.  I could taste the porridge in the thick little bowls like those in the Bear Story Molly tells her kid. I could hear the stifled sobs that wise poor children give, quiet ones so they'll not be beaten again. I could feel the night when strange, deserted, tortured babies lie for the first time each in a small white cot. The new ones waking the old with their cries and a nightmare of what had happened before they got to the cruelty. I could see the world barred over as I saw it first through the cruelty's barred windows. And as I must see it again now that, you see you don't know it quite all yet, Mr. Manager. I spat it out at him and then walked to the cop. My hand's ready for the bracelets. But there's one thing I do know. He's a big fellow, but quick on his feet. And in a minute he was up in between me and the cop. And there isn't a theatrical man in all America that knows it quicker than Fred Obermuller that can detect it sooner and develop it better. And you've got it, girl, you've got it. Officer, take this for your trouble. I couldn't hold the fellow after all. Never mind which way he went. I'll call up the office and explain. He shut the door after the cop and came back to me. I had fallen into a chair. My knees were weak and I was trembling all over. Have you seen the playlet charity at the vaudeville? He roared at me. I shook my head. Well, it's a scene in a foundling asylum. Here's a pass. Go up now and see it. If you hurry, you'll get there just in time for that act. Then if you come to me at the office in the morning at 10, I'll give you a chance as one of the charity girls. Do you want it? God, Mag, do I want it? End of chapter four.