He started the car and swung it out into the storm. As it went Burke saw the girl catch the boy's arm and heard something that sounded partly like a cry and partly like a sob.
"Laurie!"
"H-ush!"
The car was tearing through the storm and drifts at fifty miles an hour, and this time it was headed down the road for New York.
Burke's eyes followed it, as far as he could see it, which was not far. Then he retreated to the "office," and, dropping heavily into his desk chair, stared unseeingly at a calendar on the wall.
"That lad's been up to somethin'," he muttered. "I wonder what my dooty is."
It was a long moment before he remembered to open his hand and look at the bill he was holding. As he did so his eyes widened. The bill was a large one. It amounted to much more than the combined value of the bills dropped into that willing palm during the day. Briskly and efficiently it solved the little problem connected with Mr. Burke's "dooty." With a quick look around him, he thrust it into his pocket.
"I ain't really seen nothin'," he muttered, "an' I ain't sure of nothin', anyhow."
"What has happened? Oh, Laurie, what has happened?"