Anne stood at the entrance of the Boarding House unsure of whether she wanted to enter or not. She felt like kicking herself. "You have come this far," she yelled at herself in her mind, "if you back out now what is to become of you?"
Taking a deep breath and regaining composure, Anne raised her hand to knock on the door but stopped. "Do you have to knock on the door of a Boarding House?" she thought to herself, "Oh well!" And with that she turned the doorknob and opened the door. Her heart raced as she stuck her head inside and looked around. She saw many boys around her age but no one of her father's age. She could feel her legs starting to turn to jelly when she took a deep breath and stepped all the way inside. All eyes were on her. All eyes except for those of one young man who slept soundly on a chair.
The panicky feeling started to rise again in her throat and chest when she spotted a elderly man standing behind a desk. She approached him.
"Excuse me sir," she began, "I'm looking for my father. His letters stated that he was a resident here at your Boarding House."
"What was his name?" the owner asked gruffly.
"Arthur. Arthur O'Connell." Anne asked eagerly.
Spot
At the mention of his dear friend's name Spot sat upright. He looked at girl's face. Hopeful and eager. He looked down. He didn't want to have to watch her face when she heard the news.
Anne
"Aye, lassie. I guess you never got the news. Mr. O'Connell has been dead these last couple months. Killed in the Trolley Strike he was.
"Sir, there must be some mistake. Why, we received money from my father right before I left Ireland." Anne could feel a giant lump forming in her throat. Every last bit of hope she had was leaving her.
"Well, I don't now anything about that but it sure wasn't your father sending the money. Besides, all of his possessions were claimed by the Trolley workers. As you can see Miss, there is nothing I can do to help you." The owner said, waving his hand dismissing her.
Anne's eyes welled with tears but she wouldn't let them fall. Her mind was sent on a journey of mourning. Remembering her father, when she was a baby and he would toss her into the air. When she was a girl and she would ride to town on his shoulders. The day he left for America. So many happy and sad memories, they were all she had left of him.
Anne was not going to let herself get lost in the whirlwind of emotions though. She needed to keep a clear head. She needed to form a plan of what she was going to do next, where she was going to go, what she-Her thoughts were interrupted by a sob. Brought back to reality she was shocked to find that the cry came from herself. Now it was sure that all of the eyes in the room were on her. She turned quickly and fled from the Boarding House.
Spot
Watching the girl's sorrow reminded Spot of his own and it was all he could do to keep himself from crying. He had an image to uphold. Spot didn't know why but he felt responsible for the girl's tears. By sending them money he had provided them with false hope.
Why should I care, he thought. I don't even know the girl. So what if I knew her father. Spot felt guilty immediately after saying that. He knew it wasn't true. He couldn't just let her run out into the night like that. She could get hurt. Standing up and grabbing his hat, he followed her out into the night.
He searched and searched up and down every alleyway but he saw no sign of her. For a second he felt as though he had dreamed the girl up in his loneliness. But deep down he knew that that wasn't true. He wouldn't be able to imagine such sorrow as that that he had seen in the girl's eyes. And with that thought he turned back to the Boarding House with a heavy heart and a sense of failure.