He looked about for Kedzie. She was not to be seen. Adna saw the
taxicab pass over the valise she had carried. It left no trace of
Kedzie. Her annihilation was uncanny. He gaped.
"Where's Kedzie?" Mrs. Thropp screamed.
A policeman checked the traffic with uplifted hand. Adna ran to him.
Mrs. Thropp told him what had happened.
"I saw the goil drop the bag and beat it for the walk," said
the officer.
"Which way'd she go?"
"She lost herself in the crowd," said the officer.
"She was scared out of her wits," Mrs. Thropp sobbed.
The officer shook his head. "She was smilin' when I yelled at her.
It looks to me like a get-away."
"A runaway?" Mrs. Thropp gasped.
"Yes,'m. I'd have went after her, but I was cut off by a taxi."
The two old Thropps stood staring at each other and the unfathomable
New York, while the impatient chauffeurs squawked their horns in
angry protest, and train-missers with important errands thrust
their heads out of cab windows.
The officer led his bewildered charges to the sidewalk, motioned
the traffic to proceed, and beckoned to a patrolman. "Tell your
troubles to him," he said, and went back into his private maelstrom.
The patrolman heard the Thropp story and tried to keep the crowd away.
He patted Mrs. Thropp's back and said they'd find the kid easy, not
to distoib herself. He told the father which station-house to go to
and advised him to have the "skipper" send out a "general."
Thropp wondered what language he spoke, but he went; and a
soft-hearted walrus in uniform sprawling across a lofty desk
took down names and notes and minute descriptions of Kedzie and
her costume.
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