“You didn’t do a very good job on Morton Hall. There is a lot of waste space under the ceilings of the closets. They are also too small. So are the double rooms. The halls are too narrow when there are trunks around. I have fixed my closet. I think it would help you in your work to see how I did it.
“Miss Wales, whom I believe you know, acts rather tired these days.
“Yours respectfully,
“Marie O’Toole,
“A Morton Hallite.”
Betty puzzled out Marie’s hieroglyphics slowly, read the note through again, and sighed despairingly, “What will that girl do next?” Then she laughed till the tears came. Then she turned severely upon Jim.
“You could see that it was all nonsense. Why in the world did you bother to come rushing up here on account of a piece of foolishness like that?”
Jim only grinned. “I wanted to meet Miss Marie O’Toole of Morton Hall,” he announced calmly. “Have you any objections?” Then he went on, in a different tone, “I say, Betty, be a good fellow, and let’s go riding after lunch. I’m feeling a bit stale,—honestly I am. An office-man like me ought never to have been brought up on ranches. If I hadn’t acquired the fresh-air-and-exercise habit when I was a kid, I might be able to make a reputation now. But I can’t stick to a desk long enough.”
“Miss O’Toole will ride with you, poor tired man,” laughed Betty. “She comes from the West, too, and she rides like an Amazon, so she’ll give you all the exercise you want, trying to keep up with her.”
“Thanks,” said Jim briefly. “I prefer you. Say yes, Betty, like a lady, and I’ll clear right out and let you do a morning’s work in peace.”
Betty hesitated and was lost.
“At two then,” Jim sang back gaily as he “cleared out.”