“Left my bicycle at the club,” he said. “You’d better telephone for a carriage, Joey. The walk into town is a little too much for me—at my age.”
As Joey had had to leave her own bicycle at the office the day before, in order to take him home, he asked her to drive in with him; but she said she would enjoy the walk.
Two miles of white coral road in the blazing sun, after an insufficient breakfast! It was better, though, than sitting beside the captain, driving in state past the shops where they owed money.
She was a little late, and the boat had come in unusually early. She was lying alongside the wharf, already unloading, and the door of the private office was shut.
“He’s come!” Sprague whispered to her. “He’s in there, talking to McLean.”
“What’s he like?” asked Joey.
“Hard as nails!” said Sprague.
She uncovered her typewriter and sat down before it, but she had no work to do. She could only sit there, with her heart like lead.
The door of the private office opened, and McLean came out.
“Mr. Napier wants to see you,” he said briefly to Joey. As he moved away, she heard him mutter: “New brooms sweep clean!”