“Why—why, to Clintondale, sir.”
“Ha! I’ll make sure that you get on the right train, at any rate,” he said, and pressed a button under the edge of his desk. “Have you had your luncheon?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
He plucked a ten-dollar note out of his vest pocket and thrust it into her hand. “Get your luncheon.” The door opened and the red-headed boy looked in. “Pay for ‘Scorch’s’ luncheon, too.”
“Ye-es, sir,” said Nancy, faintly.
“Scorch!” commanded Mr. Gordon.
“Yessir!” snapped the office boy.
“It’s about your lunch hour?”
“Yessir!”
“Take—take Miss Nancy Nelson to Arrandale’s. Afterward take her to the station and put her aboard the right train for Clintondale. Understand?”