Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1891-12-11
o market, and there is no one else on


this floor"
Mrs. Dixon drew her chair close to
Dorothy's sofa.
"Listen!" she whispered. 'tHow
much money have youg"
"Twenty dollars of my own," Dor
othy answered, ''and forty that Ralph
left to pay the agent our rent. That's
sixty. And there's fifteen that Aunt
Rhoda sent me to match her old broc-
AIDED silk with"
"Seventy-fvel" said Mrs. Dixon, ex-
ultingly. dorothy, you shall have
your diamonds!"
"'It's impossible!" breathed Dorothy.
"But it is possible, and I'll tell you
how. Come closer, dear; not soul
must know of this. Dixon has helped
a shipping merchant on the docks to get
his cargo in-Dixon knows a man in the
dustom house, you see-and He has given
us a point. There was a Brazil
schooner came in last night, laden with
bananas. The captain has friends in the
diamond mines up among the noun
tains."
"You don't mean"
Mrs. Dixon laughed-a shrill, excited
laugh.
"It's really quite interesting to visit
those odd little foreign vessels" said
she. "I'll take you there, dear, if you'd
like2"
"Is that the way you got your dia-
monds, Luella?"
"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell
you no lies, ,"merrily retorted Mrs. Dixon.
"You have the same chance that l did.
It's the duties on these luxuries that
makes the cost. Captain Sazeda is in
hurry to get back to Rio Janerio. If we
go at all we'll have to- go tonight"
"But it's Ralph's late night at the
bankl" hesitated Dorothy.
"All the bettep. He mustn't know
word of it. Men are so ridiculous about
such things. never would have 'breathed
word to you if l had supposed you
would betray me!'
az won't! l WON'T" cried Dorothy,
her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes spar
king. "Oh, Luella, do you think my
poor little seventy-fve dollars will buy
anything fit 20 look at2
"Great bargains are sometimes OBJ
tanned in that way" nodded Mrs. Dixon.
"But, good gracious, is that eleven
striking2 And me due at my dressmak-
er's at half-past ten. l must 60, Dor
othy. Remember I'll call for you at
seven. Not minute before dark, you
know. Sazeda will send up the cabin
boy to show you the way. Put on your
waterproof, and wear your oldest hat and
veil, and make some excuse to Bridget.
Mind, sharp seven!'
All day Dorothy Imray went about
her occupations like one in dream.
The strange, fantastic nature of the ad-
venture appealed TO the romantic side of
her being.
She longed for diamonds as deser.
wandcrer longs for cooling fountains.
She could tell Ralph that she had hired
them, that some of their relations up in
Canada had bequeathed them-she could
make up any sort of a story to pacify
him. The rent must wait. Aunt
Rhoda would surely be in no haste about
her black brocaded gown!
And Dorothy fell to thinking in what
shape the stones-precious sparklers
from far Southern mines-should be set.
Seven o'clock came--a raw, smoky
twilight. filed with fine, drizzling rain
and Dorothy and Mrs. Dixon were
picking their way along the narrow,
half-lighted streets on the edge of the
wharves, where the wind was full of
saline odors, and the crowded masts and
smoke-stacks seemed to overshadow
them like some outlandish sort of forest.
A stunted lad in tattered garments
trotted along in front of them, whistling
as he went, and now and then casting a
had not lost their way.
Presently he plunged into crazy old
house which seemed to balance itself on
the black tides below.
Mrs. Dixon followed-so did Dorothy
Imray, after one startled glance around.
They descended a flight of ruinous
stairs, crossed rude gangplank, and
found themselves on stupenduously
dirty vessel, smelling of tar and onions,
and rocking back and forth with the
swell produced by the ferry boats that
came and went at intervals.
A humpbacked little man in tarnished
velveteen sat on bucket turned upside
down, holding lantern which he swung
toward u cabin door beyond.
"Ha, Giacome!" he uttered, "Ze sig
nora she come to see re parrot an re
cockatoo! She is welcome. Walk zat
way, please.
And Dorothy and her friend descend
ed into low-ceiled, dirty place lined
with cages of numberless shrleking
foreign birds, and jocund-looking
y0mg man with a mandolin slung around
his neck was leisurely picking out tune
by the light of a smoke. backened lamp.
He looked at Mrs. Dixon, who nodded
her head, while Dorothy stood trembling
and little sea-sick at her side.
He laid down the mandolin, bowed
not ungracefully, to Dorothy, and clos
ing the doors with vigilant care, opened
a shallow cigar box which lay on the