“Max could use it,” remarked Norman slyly.
“I’ll say I could,” muttered the other young man fervently. “But you really don’t think you’ll do dangerous things again, do you, Mary Lou?” he asked eagerly. “You’ll leave the solving of mysteries and crimes to your father hereafter, won’t you?”
Mary Louise’s eyes twinkled.
“I’m not making any rash promises. It sort of gets into the blood, Max. There’s no other thrill like it. I’d rather solve a mystery than eat.... But I really don’t think there is anything for me to solve now. So you can put your mind at rest.”
“I’ll feel safer after this talk with your father is over,” returned the young man.
They came to a hill, and the subject was forgotten as they all piled on the sled and rode down together.
It was only a little past five-thirty when Mary Louise opened the door of her house. Her father was already there, beside the roaring logs in the fireplace, comfortably smoking.
Mr. Gay was a tall, impressive-looking man, with a determined jaw which announced to the world that he usually accomplished whatever he set out to do. He was proud of his daughter’s detective work that summer, and delighted to have her follow in his footsteps, though he wished he might keep her always from the more gruesome features in the pursuit of crimes and criminals.
“Hello, Mary Lou!” he called, gazing admiringly at her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Did you have a good time?”
“Wonderful!” she replied, hanging up her snowflaked coat. “I’m sorry to be late, Dad, but I had a hard time getting the others home.”