Sam hadn’t been at Peter’s supper-party, and neither had Judge Vandyne, but I didn’t worry about that.  I never worry about Sam.  I just like to know he is somewhere near and then forget him—­if I am allowed, which I am not if Sam can think up some important work for me to do.  At six o’clock in the morning I laid down the papers with Peter’s triumph in them and rolled into bed, dead with sleep; and before seven Sam had sent me a note that forced me to open my eyes and stagger up and on.  It said: 

     DEAR BETTY,—­Get a maid at the hotel to come with you to the
     following address.  I need you badly.  A reliable taxi is waiting. 
          
                                                     SAM.

Horrible thoughts of somebody’s having kidnapped Sam flashed across my brain as I threw on my clothes.  How had he happened to come to New York, anyway, and then disappear right after the play?  What kind of trouble could he be in, and how could I help?  I looked in my purse and found only ten dollars, but I felt the roll that I always carry in my stocking and it still felt a respectable size.  I never count money when I am spending it, because you don’t enjoy it so much; and I had been away from home three weeks.  Still, if I had to bribe or buy Sam out of anything, I could get more some place.  I must hurry to do as he told me, and then he would direct me how to rescue him.

In less time than it would take most girls, as soggy with sleep as I was, to get dressed and down to a taxi, I was on my way to Sam.  I forgot to get the maid to go with me; and, anyway, what was the use, with a nice young white man like that taxi-car driver?  He said, looking at me so pleasantly that I was sure he didn’t really mean anything, “It’s early, isn’t it, miss?”

I was so hustled and so dazed, and had such trouble in making the little new kind of hook-buttons on my gloves stay fastened, that before I knew it we drew up at a queer kind of old warehouse down in a part of New York where I had never been, with a line of the ocean or the bay or the river or the harbor, I couldn’t tell which, just beyond.  Then I was scared, for instead of Sam being in danger, I felt that maybe I was being kidnapped.  I hesitated at the curbing as I got out of the taxi.

“Through that warehouse and to your left you’ll find the gentleman.  Good morning, miss,” said the nice taxi-man as he touched his cap and drove off and left me to my fate.  If I had had only my own fate to consider I would have taken to my good strong legs and fled, but Sam was also concerned.  At the thought of his needing me my courage came back, and I went on into the long shed where queer dirty boxes and bales and barrels and things were piled.  At last I came to a turn and stepped into a low room that was almost at the water’s edge.  It was still very early morning, and a mist from the sea made things dim, but in a crowd of queer people and bundles and voices I saw Sam standing and looking perfectly helpless, while that Commissioner of Agriculture stood over by the window, evidently perfectly furious and growling out expletives to the saddest crowd of pitiful people I had ever seen.