Whispers at Dawn; Or, The Eye

sessed of an indomitable spirit and a will of her own; else she would not have bee

all manner of junk and rags are mingled with much that, aft

, "a store in Chicago. And Maxwell Stre

two-story building with its blank windows and unpainted walls for a full moment. Then, a spirit of des

What place could this be? Her mind was in a whirl. Then, like a flash, her eyes fell upon

er kinky hair. She dragged a pink kimono from beneath a tall, slim woman's arm and, diving all but hea

d attack. The black woman banged at her with a picture frame, the tall, thin

protesting man's voice. "Why

looking over the goods in your store, and here comes this one!" She pointed an acc

e no mistaking that. Were not the trunks open there before her, a half dozen or more of them? And was not her own modest steamer trunk among them? Had she not caught them going thro

must be in the business of stealing trunks and selling their contents!" She felt, of a sudden

etic in his approach. "Why do you do this in my store? Many years I, Nichol

ened. "Then you are Nicholas Fischer. And th

lf stuck in the trunk and her wobbly legs w

ho came from Camden Center, Kansas, to help you keep your store. But I

my niece," he murmured. "Her trunk! It is her trunk! A thief it is she says I am-I, Nicholas Fischer, who never st

"Now I begin to understand," he murmured.

little trunk everything you have taken out? And if any have paid for a thing, I will repay. It is my nie

ought it?" His eyes took in the half-empty trunks all about

he most unusual street in America, Maxwell Street in Chicago. She found it interesting, amusing, somet

now! The price goes up! Cheap! Cheap!" Here a man seized her rudely by the shoulder, turned her half around and al

Center! A sort of madness comes over one in such a place as this, I guess." Re

well Street. "Shoes, scissors, radios, geese, cabbages, rags and more rags, rusty

puppies with pink noses. They, too, were f

ust! But other people's things? So often t

Everything in books.'" She read the sign aloud. She disappeared through a dingy door into a room which was brightly lighted. The lights and the face that greeted her chan

on't think you'd like 'Portrait of a Man with Red Hair.' It's really rather terrible. O

.' It is truly lovely-the story of brave and simple people. I'm afraid we'

ly," Grace whispered to herself. "

as bursting to confide in someone, she said, "He buys trunks, trunks full of other people's things. He takes the things out and sells

he girl's eye

, Nichola

He sells them to Mr. Morrow who owns this store-secondhand books. Perhaps they come from the trunks.

r people's trunks, and se

ctions, railway auctions, storage house auctions and all that. And you are to help him

ce stared i

oins and rarer old books; ancient silver plate. Just think of the things people pack away in t

ms so unfair,"

eir things in those trunks. Perhaps they are dead. In some cases they lost their trunks because the

hat something was to draw her into a great deal of trouble. For the moment she left the

and that your uncle's store is the worst on the street. But I could tell you-" A shadow fell across her face. "I

oked into her face. It had s

eese, she hurried away toward Nicholas Fischer's place on Maxwe

er. "No situation in life is ever

* *

great deal." In the first place, Drew Lane, having discovered this little lady while traveling in a bus, was not the sort to desert her in her p

, we will return to J