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The Lonely Chorus Girl
They stood together upon the platform watching the receding train. The girl's eyes were
filled with tears, but Laverick was conscious of a sense of immense relief. Morrison had
been at the station some time before the train was due to leave, and, although a physical
wreck, he seemed only too anxious to depart. He had all the appearance of a broken-
spirited man. He looked about him on the platform, and even from the carriage, in the
furtive way of a criminal expecting apprehension at any moment. The whistle of the train
had been a relief as great to him as to Laverick.
We'11 write you to New York, care of Barclays," Laverick called out. "Good luck,
Morrison! Pull yourself tog-ether and make a fresh start.
"Morrison's only reply was a somewhat feeble nod. Laverick had not attempted to shake
hands. He felt himself at the last moment, stirred almost to anger by the perfunctory
farewell which was all this man had offered to the girl he had treated so inconsiderately.
His thoughts were engrossed upon himself and his own danger. He would not even have
kissed her if she had not drawn his face down to hers and whispered a reassuring little
message. Laverick turned away. For some reason or other he felt himself shuddering.
Conversation during those last few moments had been increasingly difficult. The train
was off at last, however, and they were alone.
The girl drew a long breath, which might very well have been one of relief. They turned
silently toward the exit.
"Are you going back home?" Laverick asked.
"Yes," she answered listlessly. "There is nothing else to do."
"Isn't it rather sad for you there by yourself?"
"It is the first time," she said. "Another girl and her mother have lived with me always.
They started off last week, touring. They are paying a little toward the house or I should
have to go into rooms. As it is, I think that it would be more comfortable."
Laverick looked at her wonderingly.
"You seem such a child," he said, "to be left all alone in the world like this."
"But I am not a child actually, you see," she answered, with an effort at lightness.
"Somehow, though, I do miss Arthur's going. His father was always very good to me, and
made him promise that he would do what he could. I didn't see much of him, but one felt
always that there was somebody. It's different now. It makes one feel very lonely."