There was no use in arguing with him.
At this point came a knock at her door and her father entered. One
look at his face--red, perspiring and decidedly unhappy--served
to cheer his daughter.
"Been down to the steamship offices," he panted, mopping his bald
head. "They're open to-day, just like it was a week day--but they
might as well be closed. There's nothing doing. Every boat's
booked up to the rails; we can't get out of here for two weeks
--maybe more."
"I'm sorry," said his daughter.
"No, you ain't! You're delighted! You think it's romantic to get
caught like this. Wish I had the enthusiasm of youth." He fanned
himself with a newspaper. "Lucky I went over to the express office
yesterday and loaded up on gold. I reckon when the blow falls it'll
be tolerable hard to cash checks in this man's town."
"That was a good idea."
"Ready for breakfast?" he inquired.
"Quite ready," she smiled.
They went below, she humming a song from a revue, while he glared
at her. She was very glad they were to be in London a little longer.
She felt she could not go, with that mystery still unsolved.
CHAPTER VI
The last peace Sunday London was to know in many weary months went
by, a tense and anxious day. Early on Monday the fifth letter from
the young man of the Agony Column arrived, and when the girl from
Texas read it she knew that under no circumstances could she leave
London now.
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