“Can’t we take you home, Queenie?” inquired Marjorie. “Or we could drive Mr. MacDonald to wherever he wants to go.”
“Oh, no, don’t bother,” replied the young man hastily. “I’m leaving town tonight, and have a few errands before I go.”
“Very well,” replied Marjorie, seeing that it was useless to insist.
After their guests had left them, Marjorie turned to John expectantly.
“What do you make of him, John?” she asked.
“Probably a travelling salesman—from nowhere. He’ll probably disappear, and Queenie won’t see him again.”
“Do you think he’s all right?”
“Possibly.”
“You seem doubtful.”
“I am. I couldn’t get a thing out of him, as you probably noticed. He said he wasn’t from Philadelphia, but when I asked him where he was from he said I’d probably never heard of the place—some spot in Kansas. I didn’t even find out what his line was, and can’t say I tried hard. I thought I could size him up from his general line of conversation.”