"Say," she remarked to the sleepy operator, "what's the rate to Washington, D. C.?"
"Twenty-five for ten words, and two cents a word over."
"Change that for me, will you? Let me have some coppers?"
The man fished out the small change and went back to his accounts.
Miss Davenport slipped the paper into her pocket and returned to the cab.
"Nineteen cents change," she said, handing it to Ralston.
"Where to?" asked the cabby mechanically.
"West Forty-fifth Street," said Sullivan.
They started on. The street lamps were fast paling beneath the dawn. At Thirty-third Street and Broadway a newsboy was hopping on the cars and shouting his items. A strange thrill of determination had seized Ralston. The die was cast now. There was nothing more to consider.
"Here's your Morning Journal!" cried the boy as the cab swung by. "New Assistant Secretary of the Navy. Twelfth Regiment starts with a full quota of officers!" He waved his sheets at them.