Yes,empty-handed,Tom Dorgan.And I can't honestly say I didn't have the chance,but--if my hands are empty my head is full.
Listen.
There's a girl I know with short brown hair,a turned-up nose and gray eyes,rather far apart.You know her,too?Well,she can't help that.
But this girl--oh,she makes such a pretty boy!And the ladies at the hotel over in Brooklyn,they just dote on her when she's not only a boy but a bell-boy.Her name may be Nancy when she's in petticoats,but in trousers she's Nathaniel--in short,Nat.
Now,Nat,in blue and buttons,with his nails kept better than most boys',with his curly hair parted in the middle,and with a gentle tang to his voice that makes him almost girlish--who would suspect Nat of having a stolen pass-key in his pocket and a pretty fair knowledge of the contents of almost every top bureau-drawer in the hotel?
Not Mrs.Sarah Kingdon,a widow just arrived from Philadelphia,and desperately gone on young Mr.George Moriway,also fresh from Philadelphia,and desperately gone on Mrs.Kingdon's money.
The tips that lady gave the bad boy Nat!I knew I couldn't make you believe it any other way;that's why I passed 'em on to you,Tommy-boy.
The hotel woman,you know,girls,is a hotel woman because she isn't fit to be anything else.She's lazy and selfish and little,and she's shifted all her legitimate cares on to the proprietor's shoulders.She actually--you can understand and share my indignation,can't you,Tom,as you've shared other things?--she even gives over her black tin box full of valuables to the hotel clerk to put in the safe;the coward!But her vanity--ah,there's where we get her,such speculators as you and myself.She's got to outshine the woman who sits at the next table,and so she borrows her diamonds from the clerk,wears 'em like the peacock she is,and trembles till they're back in the safe again.
In the meantime she locks them up in the tin box which she puts in her top bureau-drawer,hides the key,forgets where she hid it,and--O Tom!after searching for it for hours and making herself sick with anxiety,she ties up her head in a wet handkerchief with vinegar on it and--rings the bell for the bell-boy!
He comes.
As I said,he's a prompt,gentle little bell-boy,slight,looks rather young for his job,but that very youth and innocence of his make him such a fellow to trust!
"Nat,"says Mrs.Kingdon,tearfully pressing half a dollar into the nice lad's hand,"I--I've lost something and I want you to--to help me find it.""Yes'm,"says Nat.He's the soul of politeness.
"It must be here--it must be in this room,"says the lady,getting wild with the terror of losing."I'm sure--positive--that I went straight to the shoe-bag and slipped it in there.And now I can't find it,and I must have it before Igo out this afternoon for--for a very special reason.My daughter Evelyn will be home to-morrow and--why don't you look for it?""What is it,ma'am?"
"I told you once.My key--a little flat key that locks--a box I've got,"she finishes distrustfully.
"Have you looked in the shoe-bag,ma'am?"
"Why,of course I have,you little stupid.I want you to hunt other places where I can't easily get.There are other places Imight have put it,but I'm positive it was in the shoe-bag."Well,I looked for that key.Where?Where not?I looked under the rubbish in the waste-paper basket;Mrs.Kingdon often fooled thieves by dropping it there.I pulled up the corner of the carpet and looked there--it was loose;it had often been used for a hiding-place.I looked in Miss Evelyn's boot and in her ribbon box.I emptied Mrs.Kingdon's full powder box.I climbed ladders and felt along cornices.I looked through the pockets of Mrs.
Kingdon's gowns--a clever bell-boy it takes to find a woman's pocket,but even the real masculine ones among 'em are half feminine;they've had so much to do with women.
I rummaged through her writing-desk,and,in searching a gold-cornered pad,found a note from Moriway hidden under the corner.I hid it again carefully--in my coat pocket.Alove-letter from Moriway,to a woman twenty years older than himself--'tain't a bad lay,Tom Dorgan,but you needn't try it.
At first she watched every move I made,but later,as her headache grew worse,she got desperate.So then I put my hand down into the shoe-bag and found the key,where it had slipped under a fold of cloth.
Do you suppose that woman was grateful?She snatched it from me.
"I knew it was there.I told you it was there.If you'd had any sense you'd have looked there first.The boys in this hotel are so stupid.""That's all,ma'am?"
She nodded.She was fitting the key into the black box she'd taken from the top drawer.Nat had got to the outside door when he heard her come shrieking after him.
"Nat--Nat--come back!My diamonds--they're not here.I know Iput them back last night--I'm positive.I could swear to it.
I can see myself putting them in the chamois bag,and--O my God,where can they be!This time they're gone!"Nat could have told her--but what's the use?He felt she'd only lose 'em again if she had 'em.So he let them lie snug in his trousers pocket--where he had put the chamois bag,when his eyes lit on it,under the corner of the carpet.He might have passed it over to her then,but you see,Tom,she hadn't told him to look for a bag;it was a key she wanted.Bell-boys are so stupid.
This time she followed his every step.He could not put his hand on the smallest thing without rousing her suspicion.If he hesitated,she scolded.If he hurried,she fumed.Most unjust,Icall it,because he had no thought of stealing--just then.
"Come,"she said at last,"we'll go down and report it at the desk.""Hadn't I better wait here,ma'am,and look again?"She looked sharply at him.
"No;you'd better do just as I tell you."
So down we went.And we met Mr.Moriway there.She'd telephoned him.The chambermaid was called,the housekeeper,the electrical engineer who'd been fixing bells that morning,and,as I said,a bell-boy named Nat,who told how he'd just come on duty when Mrs.
