The Captain stroked his short mustache for several silent moments before answering. "I quite understand how you feel," he said at length. "And I appreciate it. You're seventeen, Patricia,—almost a woman grown. I know I could trust you utterly with the whole thing, but it isn't wise,—in fact, it isn't even allowable. A government secret is a government secret, and cannot be revealed even to one's nearest and dearest. This much only, I can tell you. While I was a prisoner, I stumbled upon a very valuable secret, something new possessed by the enemy which, however, they have not had the gumption to make use of properly. But I saw that it could be vastly improved upon and made a hundred times more effective. The Government has charged me with this task, and I'm to take it back with me when I go. It's a very vital and important thing, Patricia, and may turn the tide for us. More I cannot tell you. It would not be wise nor even safe for you to know. And you can help me most by appearing to know nothing whatever about my affairs. Remember that,—to know nothing, whatever happens,—" He was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door and went to open it.
"Telegram for you, sir!" grinned the bell-boy of the snub-nose and twinkling eyes. Captain Meade tore it open hastily.
"Here's a pretty pickle!" he exclaimed, handing the yellow slip to Patricia. "Your Aunt Evelyn fell yesterday, just before she was to take the train from Chicago to meet us here, and will be laid up for the next six or eight weeks with a broken leg. Just like Evelyn!" he added impatiently. "She was always the worst youngster for falling down and getting damaged at critical moments. And she's kept it up consistently all the rest of her life. I'm sorry for her, of course, but what on earth are we to do?"
They stared blankly at each other. "Poor Aunt Evelyn!" sighed Patricia, sympathetically. "She was looking forward so to this three-months' holiday. She wrote that she hadn't been away from home even a week, for the last ten years, and was going to enjoy the rest so much. I'm awfully sorry for her. She'll be so disappointed!"
"Yes, but that doesn't solve the problem of what we're going to do," argued the captain. "She was to be your companion here. I can't be around all the time. I may even have to be away several days at a time. A young girl like you can't stay alone in a big hotel. What in sancho are we going to do?" He ran his hands through his hair despairingly. "It was only on the basis of her being able to join us that your mother and I consented to this arrangement at all. I guess now you'll have to go out to Chicago and stay with her, after all. There's no where else for you to go."
"Oh, Daddy, Daddy, don't!" implored Patricia, hurling herself at him in a panic. "I couldn't, I simply couldn't stand being parted from you now. And I'd have the most miserable time there. Aunt Evelyn would be in bed and a trained nurse puttering around her all the time, (I know her!) and there'd be nothing to do and I'd be simply wretched and unhappy all the while. We can have such a cosy time here, just you and I, and I'll promise to be very good and quiet and read a lot, and stay here in our own suite all by myself when you are away. I've brought a lot of fancy-work, too, and I'm going to do Red Cross knitting and make all my Christmas presents during these three summer months, so I'll be very, very busy. Do say yes, Daddy!"
Captain Meade looked only half convinced. "I don't like it at all, Patricia. It will not only be lonely, for you, it may possibly even be dangerous. There are spies about us all the time. If they should happen to nose out my mission, they'd no doubt try to make it hot for me—and for you too. Your Aunt Evelyn was to be your safeguard. But now—"
Patricia suddenly interrupted him. "Do you have to go away for any length of time very soon? I mean, to go for several days?"
"Well, no," he admitted. "I'm supposed to be giving lectures at the churches and Y. M. C. A.'s of this city and hereabout on my experiences as a prisoner. That, however, is hardly more than a 'blind,' to cover my real work. It will take me away some afternoons and evenings, but I shall not stay away overnight for a few weeks yet, in all likelihood."
"Then, Daddy," urged the wily Patricia, grasping eagerly at this straw, "until you find you have really to be absent for any length of time, let me stay with you. If later on you should find you must go, then we can see what to do. Meantime let's be happy together for a while and see what's going to turn up. I'll even go to Chicago then, if you insist, if you'll only let me stay here with you for a while."