Chapter 8 SOMETHING ABOUT THE MODEL

Deb grew anxious when seven o'clock came and Jack did not put in an appearance. Under ordinary circumstances, she would not have minded it, but the events of the past two days combined to make her worry more than usual. She sat by the window, watching the stream of people returning from work, and then, when it was half after the hour, put on her hat and descended to the street below.

She walked slowly in the direction of the Redrock road, in hope of meeting her brother. At the end of three blocks, she came face to face with Mont Gray, who had just been finishing up some accounts at the tool works.

"Where are you going, may I ask?" he said, with a smile.

"To meet Jack," replied Deb. "He ought to be home by this time."

"Perhaps the work took longer than he expected," observed the young man. "You know he hates to leave a job until it's done."

"Oh, I know that. But I wish he would come, anyway; I can't bear to have him away now."

"Depend upon it, he can take good care of himself," added Mont. "Come, shall I walk home with you?"

"I suppose I might as well go," returned the girl, slowly, and turned back. "Oh, I'm so awfully nervous," she added.

"Your troubles have been too much for you," he answered, kindly. "They would have been for almost any one."

Though Mont's capital was, as we know, rather limited, he was anxious to help Deb and Jack all he could. Yet he hardly knew how to broach the subject.

"Did you--did Mr. Hammerby call again?" he asked, hesitatingly.

"Yes, and gave us a three days' notice to quit," replied the girl. "He----"

"He shall not put you out!" exclaimed the young man, vehemently. "It's an outrage! It's bad enough for my uncle to believe your brother guilty, but to put you out----"

"But we are not going," continued Deb.

"I don't blame you. If I can help you----?" he began.

"No, you don't understand," returned Deb, quickly. "It's real good of you to offer help, but we don't need it," and she told him of the money Mr. Benton was to pay over on the following morning.

"I'm glad to hear you're going to get some cash out of that man," remarked Mont. "Although even so, he made a sharp bargain with Jack."

A few minutes later they reached the house.

"Will you come up?" asked Deb.

"I haven't time," he replied. "I've got to do an errand for my uncle. Maybe afterward, if I have a chance I'll take a look for Jack, and come up with him."

"Oh, I wish you would," she returned, "I know it's dreadfully silly for me to be so easily worried, but I can't help it."

"Oh, it's all right, I suppose. If I was in his place maybe I'd like to be worried about, too," and away went Mont, whistling quite a merry air.

The young girl entered the kitchen and lit the lamp. It was now half-past eight, and as the people of the neighborhood were hard workers. who retired early, the streets were comparatively quiet.

She left the supper dishes upon the table, and putting some extra coal into the stove, set the tea and other things so that they might keep warm.

It was a dreary evening for her. She did not care much to read--actual life interested her far more than books--and now all her thoughts were centered on Jack.

"It's a pretty long walk from that farmer's place," she kept saying to herself. "But he will come soon, oh, he must come soon."

Her reflections were broken by hearing an unknown step upon the stairs, followed by a sharp rap at the door.

Hardly knowing whom to expect at this hour of the night, she bade the person enter.

The newcomer was Dennis Corrigan!

Deb did not know the man. She had seen him on the streets, but though he was fairly well dressed, she was not taken by his general appearance.

"Does Jack Willington live here?" asked Corrigan, with a hasty glance around the kitchen, to see who might be present.

"Yes, sir," replied Deb, and then realizing that the man might have news for her, she continued quickly: "Did he send you?"

"Yes, Miss. He said I was to get a model that he had here."

This assertion surprised the girl. What in the world could Jack want with his model this time of night?

"Where is my brother?" she asked.

Corrigan was not prepared to answer this question.

"He is--down the street," he stammered.

"Where?"

"Why--down in McGlory's saloon."

This reply was a fatal blunder for Corrigan, who by a little scheme of his own, had proposed to get the model into his possession without any difficulty.

"In McGlory's saloon!" repeated Deb, in amazement. "Why, Jack doesn't drink."

"Oh, yes, he does--once in a while," replied Corrigan, glibly.

"You're mistaken!" returned Deb, sharply. "What does he want the model for?"

She was growing a trifle suspicious. The article in question was valuable, and just now doubly so.

"I don't know what he's going to do with it. Got it handy?"

Involuntarily Deb glanced over to where the model stood covered with a cloth. She regretted the action an instant after, for Corrigan's eyes watched her closely.

"How far is that saloon from here?" she asked.

"Only a few blocks."

"Queer he didn't come for it himself."

"He was too busy. He asked me to go for him, and sent this paper as an order. He said you'd know all about it," replied Corrigan, and he handed out the agreement he had stolen from Jack.

Deb recognized the paper at once. Jack must certainly have given it to the man, and yet, for a reason she could not explain, she felt that all was not right.

One thing she remembered; her brother had repeatedly cautioned her not to let outsiders examine the model under any plea. To place it, therefore, in a stranger's hands seemed a risk she did not care to assume.

"What's the matter?" asked Corrigan, as Deb still hesitated. "Ain't it all right?"

He was growing uneasy, fearful of being interrupted just at the moment when the prize was almost within his grasp.

"I would rather have my brother come for it himself," said the girl finally.

"He can't come; he's too busy," persisted the intruder.

"It wouldn't take long to get it if he is only a few blocks away."

"Yes, but he doesn't want to leave. He has a chance of selling it to a man for big money, and he's afraid the man may back out if he leaves him."

Deb was sorely perplexed. The man might be speaking the truth, in which case she did not for the world wish Jack to lose the chance of striking a bargain.

"So I'll take it right along at once," continued Corrigan, stepping over to where the model stood.

But, at this instant, a bright idea came into the girl's head. She knew that she could trust Mr. Snitzer, or one of his sons, and was sure that any one of them would do her a favor willingly.

"You need not take so much trouble," she exclaimed, stepping between the man and the model. "Just leave the address of the place, and I will send it up at once."

This was a staggerer for Corrigan, and he knew not how to answer.

"No, I'll take it myself," he replied, roughly.

His words sent a dreadful chill to Deb's heart. In an instant she realized the man's true object, and her own helpless condition.

"What do you mean?" she cried in terror.

"I mean that if you won't give me the model I'll take it."

The words had hardly been uttered before Deb gave a terrible scream.

"Stop your noise!" hissed Corrigan, jumping to her side, and clapping his hand over her mouth.

The girl struggled to escape, but she was as a feather in this powerful fellow's arms, and half fainting, she felt herself borne into the next room, and the door locked upon her.

Then she heard Corrigan pick up the model, and hurry down the stairs and out of the house.