“What was in the letter from her?”
“It’s none of your business, Harry—but still, I don’t mind saying that Miss Emory wrote me and said that if I was still—oh! I say!” he roared, turning suddenly and poking a finger into my ribs, “if you haven’t got on one of my waistcoats!”
“The one with pink stripes,” said I still icily, “and deuced bad ones they all are. And these clothes I borrowed from my China boy. But then——”
“I see, you must have come in a hurry, eh?”
“Yes. But come now, old man, what’s in that letter? I’ve got one of my own here, done in the same hand, hers. I am under sealed orders—until I shall have met you, which is now. So I suppose some sort of explanation is due on both sides. We might as well have it all out here, before we join the house party, so as to avoid any awkwardness.”
“Oh, nothing in my letter to amount to anything,” he replied. “Miss Emory only wanted to know if I’d please have her trunks shipped out here from New Orleans—only that; and she asked me please to bring her a box of marshmallows, as hers were all gone. She’s polite, always, dear old Helena—she says, here, ‘So pleasant is our journey in every way, and so kind have you gentlemen been, and so thoughtful in providing every luxury, that I can not think of a single thing I could ask for except some more marshmallows. Jimmy, the young imp, my nephew, you know, has found mine, though I hid them under both cushions in the stateroom.’”
I had my hat off, and was wiping my forehead. A sudden burst of glory seemed to me to envelope all the world. If there had been duplicity anywhere, I did not care.
“I suppose Jimmy is the one with two guns and a Jap sword, eh?” asked Davidson.
“No, the other one, God bless him! Is that all there was in the letter, Cal?”
“Yes. What’s in yours? What’s the game—button, button, who’s got the girl? And can’t you open your letter now?”