“No, oh, no,” returned Hugh hastily, thrusting out a hand for the letter. “I can read it all right.”
The caller crossed to a window and sat down; and as Hugh opened his letter Miss Frink noticed that he was not too old to blush.
Dear Hugh (he read)
I am nonplussed at not hearing from you. A little more and I will have to institute a search; for as you know I left orders for your mail to be forwarded to me, and a letter has come from your sister. I am being heroic not to open it, and I don’t dare forward it until I know surely where you are. The earth seems to have opened and swallowed you up. Please send me a wire as soon as you get this. Yours sincerely
John Ogden
“Say, Miss Frink”—Hugh’s brow was troubled as he folded the letter. “I ought to send a wire to Ogden. He has been the best sort of a friend to me and—and sending me with that letter of—of introduction to you—he can’t understand not hearing from me—whether I got the job or—or anything you—you understand.”
Long before the stammering speech was over, Miss Frink was beside Hugh’s chair. “Don’t you worry another minute,” she said. “I’ll send a wire at once explaining everything, and Mr. Ogden will know I am the only villain in the plot.”
“Plot,” thought Hugh, his heart beating with repugnance to the situation.
There was a knock on the door. It was a maid announcing the barber. “Oh, yes, Miss Frink,” said Miss Damon. “While you were gone Dr. Morton called up and said he was sending the barber.”
“Let him come up,” said Miss Frink, “and don’t let him cut your head off, boy, because I want you to hear the telegram I’ll be sending John Ogden.”