Annette held her umbrella horizontally, squared her shoulders, and swung bravely across the room.
"Sandy Kilday?" gasped Jimmy, with a clutch at the letter in his pocket. "Where's he at?"
"He's trying to get up from the d-depot. He has been an hour coming two squares. Everybody has stopped him, from Mr. Moseley on down to the b-blacksmith's twins."
"Is he coming this way?" asked Jimmy, wild-eyed and anxious.
Annette stepped to the window.
"Yes; they are crossing the street now." She opened the sash and, snatching a handful of snow, rolled it into a ball, which she sailed out of the window. It was promptly answered by one from below, which whirled past her and shattered itself against the wall.
"Dare, dare, double dare!" she called as she flung handfuls of loose snow from the
window-ledge. A quick volley of balls followed, then the door burst open. Sandy and Ruth Nelson stood laughing on the threshold.
"Hello, partner!" sang out Sandy to Jimmy. "Still at the old work, I see! Do you mind how you taught me to count the change when I first sold stamps?"
Jimmy tried to smile, but his effort was a failure. The interesting tangle of facts and circumstances faded from his mind, and he resorted instinctively to nature's first law. With an agitated countenance, he sought self-preservation by waving Sandy's letter behind him in a frantic effort to banish, if possible, the odor of his guilt.