“Well, what are you going to do with ‘Cynthia-of-the-minute?’” asked Molly.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” said Beth, seriously.
“With me? Goodness! Am I going to be in this?”
“Of course. We’re chums, aren’t we?” laughed Beth, roguishly, as she drew on her stockings. “Sit down on the edge of the berth, Molly, and we’ll talk. I don’t think Cynthia means to wake up.”
“She wouldn’t awaken if the upper berth fell down,” declared Molly Granger. “Well now! what is it, Beth Baldwin? I believe you are going to get me into trouble.”
“Not a bit of it. But we both must help this poor girl.”
“Why must we? I don’t like that word, anyway,” confessed Molly.
“But if we can help folks in this world, we ought to, oughtn’t we?”
“That is, if we find a convict, for instance, escaping, we should aid him rather than the police?” giggled Molly.
“Hush! I tell you I have every confidence in Cynthia’s being a good girl. But she is a poor girl, and she needs some better looking clothes than those she has. And then, she needs work.”