by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER VIII DOWN A BEAM OF LIGHT
Grace Krowl, the girl from Kansas, found plenty of things to occupy herthoughts as she sank into a chair in one of the two small rooms allottedto her on the upper floor of her uncle's store in Chicago.
"A store in Chicago." She laughed low. Her uncle's store in Chicago. Whatdreams had she not dreamed of this store? Chicago was a grand city. Hisstore must be a grand place. She had of late pictured it as a six-storybuilding; pure fancy, for he had never written about its size orimportance. In fact, he had not written at all until she had writtenfirst and asked for a position as clerk in his store. He had been marriedto her mother's sister. The sister was dead.
When Grace had needed work badly she had written, and he had repliedbriefly: "I can give you work at fifteen dollars per week and board."
So here she was. And her uncle's store was little more than a hole in thewall. No counters, no glass cases. Things piled in heaps, and allsecondhand; glass dishes here, bed covers there, dresses, sheets, towels,everything. And in the corner, like so many skeletons, a great pile ofbruised, battered and empty trunks.
"He buys trunks, other people's trunks." She shuddered afresh.
Then the words of her new-found friend of the bookstore came to her."Diamonds, stocks and bonds." These were dreams. "But rare old books,wonderful bits of Irish lace, why not?" Perhaps, after all, she coulddrive away the ache that came in her throat at the thought that someonewho truly loved these things had lost them because they were poor.
She thought of her own trunk and laughed aloud. What a sight that musthave been--she snatching at her prized possessions and those other womenpoking her and banging her on the head!
Of course it had all been a mistake. She had come to Chicago by bus andhad sent on her trunk by express. The van that went for her trunk hadalso picked up a half dozen others which her uncle had bought at auction.The trunks had become mixed. The lock had been pried off her own and thecontents were being sold when she arrived. Everything had been retrievedexcept a pearl-backed brush she prized and a hideous vase she abhorred.
"That did not turn out so badly," she assured herself. "Perhapseverything will come along quite as well." And yet, as she took a handfulof silver coins and one paper dollar from her purse and added them up,her face was very sober. She was a long way from home, and there could beno retreat.
The place she was to call home was above the store. Too tired andpreoccupied to notice at first, she received a shock when she atlast became conscious of her surroundings. The room in which shesat was a tiny parlor, all her own. Off from that was a bedroom.Everything--furniture, rugs, decorations,--was in exquisite taste andperfect harmony.
"Contrast!" she exclaimed. "Who could ask for greater contrast? Ragsbelow, and this above!" She stared in speechless surprise.
One thing astonished her. Opposite the window in the parlor was an oval,concave mirror, like an old-fashioned light reflector. It was some twofeet across.
"I wonder why it is here," she murmured. She was to wonder more as thedays passed.
When she had prepared herself for the night's rest, she snapped out thelight, then stood for a brief time at the open window looking out intothe night. She was on the second floor of her uncle's small building.Before her were the low, flat roofs of some one-story shacks. Looking farbeyond these, she saw squares of light against the night sky. These sheknew were lighted windows of distant skyscrapers. There were thousands ofthese windows.
"What can they all do at night?" she asked herself. "Struggling to makemoney, to get on, to keep their families housed and fed," the answer cameto her. Then, strangely enough, her mind carried her back over the trailthat had brought her to this city. It had been an interesting adventure,that long bus ride. Six of the passengers, including herself, had riddenhundreds of miles together. They had become like a little community.
"It was as if these were pioneer days," she told herself now. "As if wewere journeying in covered wagons in a strange new land." One of theselong distance passengers, as you will know, had been a young man. In hisgolf knickers and soft, gray cap, he had seemed a college boy. But he wasnot. "Out of college and at work," was the way he had expressed it.
"What work do you do?" she had asked.
He had hesitated before replying. Then his answer had been vague. "Oh, Ijust look after people."
"Look after people?"
"Lots of people. All sorts." A queer smile had played about the cornersof his mouth.
She had not pressed the question further. But now, standing there lookingout into his city at night, she whispered, "His name was Drew Lane.Wonder if I'll ever see him again? I hope so. He seemed a nice boy, and Ishould love to know how he looks after 'lots of people--all sorts.'"
She looked again at the many lighted windows. Suddenly those who toiledthere seemed very near to her. She found a strange comfort in this.
"I, too, must do my best," she told herself. "God help me to be wise andstrong, helpful to others and kind to all!" she prayed as she gaveherself over to sleep.
She was wakened at dawn by a whisper. At first, so closely did dream lifeblend with the life of day, it seemed natural that she should belistening to this whisper. When she had come into full consciousness shesprang out of bed with a start.
"Good morning!" The words came in slowly, a distinct whisper. "We hopeyou are happy this morning. Cheerio! That's the word!"
"When you have dressed," the whisper continued, "won't you just step outinto the little parlor and take a seat by the table? It will be good tohave a look at your shining face."
"Someone in my little parlor! I don't like it. And that whisper!"
She dressed hurriedly, then stepped through the door. What sort of personhad she expected to see? Probably she could not have told. What she didsee was _an empty room_.
Greatly astonished, hardly knowing why she obeyed the whispered orders,she took a seat by the table. Instantly the whisper began once more:
"Ah! There you are! I am talking to you over a beam of light. I am a mileaway. I have interesting things to tell you. You are going to aid me."
For a brief space of time the whisper ended. The girl's mind was in awhirl. "Talking down a beam of light!" she thought. "What nonsense! Goingto aid that whisperer?" Here surely was some strange mystery.