Again and again he had stopped and made inquiries of policemen, of
children, of men and women, but no one knew that of which he asked. A
blind man who played the harp, a child named Carmencita, a boy called
Noodles, a settlement house, he supposed, over which Mother Somebody
presided--these were all he had to go on. To ask concerning Miss
Barbour was impossible. He could not bring himself to call her name.
He would have to go to headquarters for help. To-morrow would be
Christmas eve. He _would not_ spend Christmas alone--or in the usual
way.
"Say, mister, don't you wish you was a boy again? Get out the way!"
With a push the boy swept by him, pulling on a self-constructed sleigh
a still smaller boy, and behind the two swarmed a bunch of yelling
youngsters who, as they passed, pelted him with snow. One of them
stopped to tie the string of his shoe, and, looking down, Van Landing
saw--Noodles.
With a swift movement he reached down to grab him, but, thinking it
was a cop, the boy was up and gone with a flash and in half a moment
was out of sight. As swiftly as the boy Van Landing ran down the
street and turned the corner he had seen the boy turn.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108