“Nevertheless we can approach the man on the subject,” Marjorie remarked. “He can’t do any worse than refuse.”
“He might put us out,” said Lily.
With all possible celerity, Mrs. Remington left the room to put the proposal to a test. When she returned in fifteen minutes the girls knew instantly by her expression that she had been unsuccessful. However, the proprietor had extended them the courtesy of an invitation to remain as long as they wished.
“Then,” concluded Alice, “we have to stay over Sunday, and trust to luck that we can make Aunt Emeline’s in one day. Let’s don’t worry any more—there’s simply nothing to be done!”
But Marjorie and Mrs. Remington decided to leave no stone unturned in their attempt to raise money. First of all they went to the police authorities with a full report of their misfortune; then they sought the president of the local bank, a Mr. Simpson, at his own home. Here they were received graciously, not only by the man himself, but by his wife as well, and into their sympathetic ears they poured their disconcerting tale. Neither seemed to doubt its authenticity for a single instant.
“I can’t do anything for you in the bank’s name,” the president informed them when the story was finished, “but I will be glad to help you personally. It won’t inconvenience me in the least!”
“You can telegraph our bank at home, and get a reply on Monday,” Mrs. Remington suggested.
“I don’t need any further proof of your honesty,” answered Mr. Simpson, with a kindly smile; “your faces and your uniforms are sufficient!”
Marjorie unceremoniously let out a shriek.
“But we can’t accept help from you—splendid as it is of you to offer it!” she objected. “Because our rules forbid us!”