She clapped her hands. “Oh, I’ll attend to that. You know Jimmy Jones is really the Sandywood Station telegraph boy, and he’ll do anything for me.”
“I don’t doubt it. There’s at least one other person in the same happy condition.”
“Haven’t you a friend in Baltimore who might possibly send you a telegram—somebody so real you could just show it to the Cresaps, and they’d believe it? What fun!”
He chuckled. “This is a real conspiracy. The only friend the Cresaps and I have in common is Danton.”
“Who?”
“Charles Danton. D-a-n-t-o-n.”
“I’ll remember.”
“All right. At ten o’clock to-morrow, at the foot of the lane. You’ll meet me there, honest Injun, Betty?”
“Honest Injun! Hope I may die!”
She had followed him to the edge of the porch and stood looking down at him as he lingered a couple of steps below.