"Oh, thank you," cries the girl. "You will take care of me. How nice!" her smiles overcoming her tears.
"Certainly. That is my duty," answers Harry, still coldly, for he has been very deeply wounded.
"I don't want your duty!" answers Erma hotly.
"What do you want?"
"Forgiveness! Don't punish me with kindness, and still be implacable. Forgive me," pleads the young lady, her little hand held out towards her judge.
Then Miss Travenion gives a startled little "Ough!" for her fingers receive a grip that makes her wince, and as their hands meet, piquant gaiety comes over the young lady, and the gentleman begins to smile, and his eyes grow sunny.
A second after he says, "If I am responsible for you, I must look after you. You must have dinner, and so must Ferdie," and he calls cheerily to the youth, who has been brushing the sawdust of barroom floor and the dirt of combat from his light travelling suit. "You are up to a bite, young bantam, ain't you, after your scrimmage?"
"Yes, I'm dead hungry," answers Mr. Chauncey. "But Erma, your French maid is in the waiting-room, crying her eyes out. She says my aunt left her with your hand-baggage."
"Clothes!" screams Miss Travenion. "There's a new dress in my travelling bag! Oh! to get rid of the dust of travel," and growing very happy at this find—as what woman would not?—she and Lawrence walk across the tracks to the railroad hotel, followed by the maid and Ferdie, who brings up the rear, stopping at every other step to examine his summer suit for rent of combat, and to give it another brush from barroom dirt, and shortly arrive at the hostelry that lies between the tracks of the Union and Central Pacific Railways.
Here Lawrence suggests that Erma send a telegram to Mrs. Livingston, and dissipate any fears her chaperon may have for her safety. So, going into the telegraph office, she hastily writes the following: