“Oh, lots of things, lots of nice things,” he looked very pleased with himself. “First off, how soon can you all be ready to move on? We should be moving along to Mexico City, a grand place, one of the most interesting cities I’ve ever visited. What say you, Jamieson?”
“Eh, what?” Jamieson had been quite bowled over by the old man’s sudden change in mood and had been wondering whether it would be the right time now to ask whether he could kidnap Alice for part of the morning. He was trying to signal her to ask her opinion, when the question was addressed to him. Now, he was at a complete loss, for he had heard nothing of the conversation that preceded the query.
“I say,” Adair repeated his question patiently, “isn’t Mexico City a grand place?”
“Yes, yes, a grand place,” Walker answered absently. Had Alice understood what he was signaling? He couldn’t be sure. What was she telling him with her lips. Was it “Better wait” or “Better not.” “What?” The question came out audibly without his realizing it.
It was Nan, the darling, who saved the day. She had been watching the frantic efforts of Walker Jamieson to communicate with Alice and noted his lack of success. She, too, had been trying to read Alice’s answer and was as startled as Walker when his “what?” was voiced. Now, like a “veteran” (Walker used the word later when he promised to buy her something, anything from a gorgeously colored serape to an jade bracelet for coming to his rescue) she filled the breach.
“I said,” she affirmed, looking at Walker as though she was answering his question, “that we can all be ready to leave about noon, if it pleases cousin Adair.” She turned to her cousin somewhat diffidently as she added this last. The truth was, of course, that she and her friends could have left in an hour, in a half hour, but it was fun trying to help Walker and Alice out.
“Let’s see,” Adair took out his big gold watch and considered. “Noon. That gives us a few hours to make a good start on our way before dark. Could you make it by eleven?”
Nan looked at Walker. “Eleven-thirty.” She read his lips.
“Eleven-thirty,” she smiled up at her cousin.
“You little beggar, you,” he tweaked the pink ear that showed just beneath her brown bobbed hair, “you’ll be able to barter with those Mexicans like a veteran. It’s your Scotch blood.” He looked proud of her as he turned to the others, “Well, Nan here says ‘eleven-thirty’, so eleven-thirty it is. Now get out, all of you, I’ve got some business to attend to, and I don’t want to see any more of any of you until it’s time to leave. No, not even you,” he added as he looked at Alice.