“Let’s go out and make sure that he wasn’t taken by the police here, or at Norfolk.”
“How will you find out?”
“At the dock. Somebody will know.”
“You go. I’ll write to Mrs. Smith. Don’t get lost,” said Ruth, drawing paper and envelopes toward her and preparing to write the missive.
It was growing dark before Ruth finished the letter—and that should not have been, for it was not yet noon! She looked up and then ran to the window. A storm cloud was sweeping down the bay and off across Hampton Roads. Over in Norfolk it was raining—a sharp shower. But it did not look as though it would hit the Point.
While Ruth was looking out Helen came running into the writing room, greatly excited. “Oh, come on, Ruthie!” she cried. “I’ve got a man who will take us for a drive all around the Point and around the fortress.”
“In what?” asked Ruth, doubtfully.
“Well, I’d call it a barouche. It’s an old thing; but he’s such a nice, old darkey, and——”
“How much have you already paid him, my dear?” asked Ruth, interrupting.
“Well—I——Oh! don’t be so inquisitive!”