"We owe at least all of that here for supper and rooms," said Bartlett.
Henrietta glanced from one to the other, then laughed, a gay little bubble of mirth. They had no money, but what did that matter? What did anything matter when one loved and is loved? She felt guilty because she was not sorrier over the loss of the car, and she patted the general lovingly on the shoulder.
"Cheer up, daddy, we haven't a cent, none of us," she crooned.
"We can telegraph," suggested Billy.
"From where?" asked Bartlett shortly.
"Why, we can drive somewhere where we can," returned Billy desperately, under her father's calm scrutiny of amusement.
"Drive what?" asked Bartlett.
"A horse," said Henrietta mildly.
"What horse?" questioned Bartlett. "There are two. The farmer wants them both to help clear up and to go to a neighbor's for assistance. What shall we drive?"
"Shank's mare," said Henrietta. "At the nearest farm, we can get a team and drive to some town where we can telegraph."