“That woman is on this very train!”
“Waal, may I be tickled to death by grasshoppers!” ejaculated the youth from Vermont. “Whut in thunder do yeou s’pose she’s up to?”
“It may be the same one,” said Frank. “It would be remarkable if it should prove to be the same one. Two women might look so much alike that the description of one would exactly fit the other—especially if both were heavily veiled.”
Bart shook his head.
“Something tells me it is the same woman,” he persisted.
“But why should she be on this train?”
“Who can answer that? Why did she try such a trick on the street?”
“Don’t know,” admitted Merry. “Once I thought it might be that she was mashed on me, but it didn’t prove that way.”
“Oh, I dunno,” drawled Gallup, with a queer grin. “Yeou turned her daown, an’ that made her sore. Ef she’d bin mashed on ye, perhaps she’d done jest as she did to git revenge fer bein’ turned daown.”
“No, something tells me this was more than a simple case of mash,” said Frank.