Could--could you
leave here for just ten minutes--long enough to go to the dance hall at
the Gayety?"
"Sure thing; there 's nothin' doin'."
"Then please go; find a big, red-headed miner there named
Brown--'Stutter' Brown they call him--and bring him back here to me.
If--if he is n't there any longer, then get Mercedes, the Mexican
dancer. You know her, don't you?"
The clerk nodded, reaching for his hat.
"Get one of those two; oh, you must get one of them. Tell them I say
it is most important."
There was a terrible earnestness about the girl's words and manner,
which instantly impressed the lad with the necessity for immediate
haste. He was off at a run, slamming the door heavily behind him, and
plunging headlong into the black street. As he disappeared, Miss
Norvell sank back into the vacated chair, and sat there breathing
heavily, her eyes fastened upon the drunken man opposite, her natural
coolness and resource slowly emerging from out the haze of
disappointment.
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