“And is that other girl I saw you with?”
“Yes. We had just met. She is an awfully nice girl. Maybe she can help.”
“What do you mean? To give me some of your clothes? Bless you, child!” and this strange girl laughed heartily. “Both of you are chunky and I am tall. Your clothes never would fit me in the world. I don’t want skirts half way to my knees. Make me look like a giraffe reaching for the highest branches of a cocoanut palm!”
She laughed again, and Beth joined her—but rather ruefully. To tell the truth, Beth thought her strangely particular for a poor girl—a runaway from an orphans’ home, or something of the kind.
But she did not prolong the argument with her guest. Cynthia Fogg (if such was her name) was frankly yawning.
“We will talk of it in the morning,” Beth said, with sympathy. “I see you are tired. You may take either berth——”
“Oh! I could never climb into an upper,” gasped Cynthia. “If I have to sleep in such a place it has to be in the lower berth.”
Evidently the runaway was used to taking the best there was to be had—whatever that best might be. She seemed quite careless of other people’s needs or desires. She took Beth’s kindness in offering her the choice of the berths quite as a matter of course.
Naturally, there was not much room in the stateroom for two people. Cynthia seemed so tired that Beth sat back on a stool and allowed her to undress first. The girl from Hudsonvale could not help noticing that the stranger’s under-clothing was very good and spotlessly clean. These did not match her outside apparel in the least. Beth Baldwin could not help but think this strange.
“Well, I didn’t suppose I’d be sleeping in a stateroom to-night,” said Cynthia, with a careless laugh, as she got into the wider lower berth. “I didn’t have much money left after I bought these clothes of that girl.”