guess you can cure me as quickly as a doctor,” said the man, hanging his head. “I – I had a little girl like you once.”
“Now drink some of this,” urged Dot, without noticing the man’s last remark, and offering the glass of water.
He took it in a trembling hand and raised it to his lips. The little girl reached for the Alice-doll, but watched him carefully.
“Don’t spill it,” she said, “and don’t drink it all. I think if I put some on your face you’d feel better.”
Immediately she produced a diminutive handkerchief, folded just as it had been ironed, and when she took back the glass, she dipped the bit of muslin in the water remaining in it.
Then with tender hand she wiped his hot face; and she wiped away two big tears, too, that started down his cheeks. She was still engaged in thus playing the Good Samaritan when a swiftly moving motor car coming through Willow Street was suddenly brought to a stop beside them.
There was a thin, wiry fellow at the steering wheel. The goggles he wore half disguised him. In the tonneau sat a fat, prosperous looking man smoking a big, black cigar.
“That’s him, ain’t it, Joe?” asked the fat man, nodding toward the man sitting on the curbstone.
“Yep. That’s him,” rejoined the chauffeur.
“Hey, Mr. Maynard!” exclaimed the fat man. “Get up and get in here. I want to talk to you.”
The fast sobering man looked up, saw the speaker, and did not look particularly pleased. He tried to rise. Although his brain was fast clearing, his limbs were still wabbly.
“Get out and boost him in here,” said the fat man, in a low tone to the chauffeur.
The latter hopped out. He came quickly to the aid of Mr. Maynard, and pushed little Dot Kenway rudely aside. The man still held the doll.
“Say! you don’t want that thing!” muttered the chauffeur, and he seized the doll and flung it disdainfully upon the ground.
Dot uttered a scream of terror. At that moment Agnes and Neale O’Neil, the latter carrying the girl’s schoolbooks, came around the corner.
CHAPTER VI – THE BIG TOUR IS PLANNED
Mr. Maynard, as the fat man had called Dot’s new acquaintance, grumbled something or other at the chauffeur because of his treatment of the Alice-doll; but he was not yet quite himself and the fellow merely laughed and urged Maynard toward the car. The fat man laughed, too.
“Come on, Mr. Maynard. We’ll take you home,” said the big man, holding open the door of the tonneau.
Just as Neale O’Neil and Agnes reached the spot, the chauffeur pushed Maynard in and stepped quickly into his own place.
“Say! what did you do to this little girl?” demanded Neale, with some heat, addressing the chauffeur.
The fellow did not answer; neither did the big man; and Maynard had tumbled into a seat without a word. Dot had already picked up her doll; it was not hurt. The car started and rolled away.
“The mean thing!” exclaimed Neale. “Don’t cry, Dot.”
“I – I’m not going to,” sobbed the smallest Corner House girl. “I don’t b’lieve they’ll be kind to that man. He’s awful sick.”
“Who is?” asked Neale quickly, exchanging glances with Agnes.
“That man they took away. I got him a drink of water. But Sammy Pinkney told a story ’bout him.”
“What did Sammy say?” asked Agnes, but her attention scarcely on what Dot was saying.
The little girl told her. “But he was sick. I know it. I got him a drink of water. He wasn’t carrying a brick at all.”
Neale had grinned faintly; but his face was quickly sober again.
“I know who that Mr. Maynard is,” he said. “He used to work in the court house. I believe he was in Mr. Collinger’s office – and he was a real nice man once.”
“Why, he is now,” cried Dot, listening with very sharp ears. “Only he is sick.”
“Perhaps you are right, Dottie,” agreed Neale, still gravely, but speaking to Agnes. “Anyhow, he lost his wife and then his little girl. He’s gone all to pieces, they say. It’s an awfully sad case. And do you know who that big man is?”
“No,” said Agnes, still unnoticing and gazing after the disappearing car.
“That’s Jim Brady. He’s a ward leader on the other side of town. He’s very powerful in politics – ”
“Oh, Neale!” cried Agnes, suddenly, seizing her friend’s arm.
“Hul-lo! What’s the matter?” asked Neale.
“Do you know who that fellow was that drove the car? Did you see him?”
“No-o. I didn’t notice him much. He had dust goggles on – ”
“I know! I know!” cried the excited girl. “They concealed his face a good deal. But I saw the freckles.”
“The freckles?” repeated Neale, wonderingly.
“Yes. Of course. It was that freckled fellow who spoke to Ruth that day.”
“Not Joe Dawson?” cried the boy.
“Yes. If that’s his real name. Oh, Neale! Let’s have him arrested.”
“Cricky!” ejaculated the surprised youth. “Arrest your aunt!”
Agnes burst out laughing at that – serious as she was. “Aunt Sarah Maltby certainly did not steal Mr. Collinger’s motor car,” she said.
“Well. We don’t know that Saleratus Joe did,” grinned Neale. “Come on home. Don’t cry any more, Dot. Just the same I would like to punch that fellow who threw down your doll.”
“Can’t we find out who he is – all about him?” demanded Agnes.
“Maybe. That Mr. Maynard knows him, I s’pose. I could ask him. I used to clean Mr. Maynard’s yard and sidewalks for him. I’ll see,” promised Neale O’Neil.
When the trio reached the Corner House that day, however, they found a subject afoot that put out of Neale’s and Agnes’ minds for the time being all thought of the stealing of Mr. Collinger’s car. And yet the county surveyor’s aunt had something to do with this very interesting topic under discussion.
Mrs. Heard was present, having a neighborly cup of tea with Mrs. MacCall, who was quite as much a friend of the family as she was housekeeper. Mr. Howbridge had chanced to drop in as well, and Ruth had arrived home ahead of the other Corner House girls.
“Oh, Aggie!” cried Ruth, running out of the sitting room where tea was being served, Uncle Rufus having rolled the service table in there at Mrs. MacCall’s request. “Just guess!”
“Going
