Ruth caught at her arm; but the stroke went home. Edith Phelps’ face reddened and then paled. Without further speech she hurried away with the letter gripped tightly in her hand. She did not appear at breakfast.
“It’s terrible to be always ladylike,” sighed Helen to Ruth. “I just know we have seen one end of a mystery. And that’s all we are likely to see.”
“It is the most mysterious thing why Phelps should be interested in our affairs, and be getting letters from Yucca,” admitted Ruth.
The chums had no further opportunity of talking this matter over, for it was at breakfast that Rebecca Frayne threw her bomb. At least, Jennie Stone said it was such. Rebecca came over to Miss Comstock’s table where the chums and Jennie sat and demanded:
“Ruth Fielding! who is going to chaperon your party?”
“What? Chaperon?” murmured Ruth, quite taken aback by the question.
“Of course. You say Helen’s brother is going. And there will be a guide and other men. We’ve got to have a chaperon.”
“Oh!” gasped Helen. “Poor old Tommy! If he knew that! He won’t bite you, Rebecca.”
“You girls certainly wouldn’t dream of going on that long journey unless you were properly attended?” cried Rebecca, horrified.
“What do you think we need?” demanded Jennie Stone. “A trained nurse, or a governess?”