“Telephone, and ask him about it,” suggested Nan, as they sat at luncheon.
“No,” said Patty, “he said he’d send it, and I’ll wait for him.”
“How long can you wait?”
“Why, the only stipulation is that the list of answers shall be postmarked not later than April first; but I hate to wait till the last mail.”
“So should I; do telephone, Patty.”
“No, not yet. He’ll send it.”
The afternoon dragged by, with no word from Mr. Hepworth. At four o’clock, Nan went to Patty’s room.
“Dearie,” she said, “don’t lose your whole effort by a bit of stubbornness. Mr. Hepworth must have forgotten to send his answer—or, perhaps, he sent it by a messenger, and it went to the wrong place.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” said Patty, shaking her head. “He’ll guess it, and, as soon as he does, he’ll telephone me. I know him.”
“I know him, too, and I know his faithfulness. But mistakes do happen sometimes. If you’d only telephone,—or let me.”