The nurse smiled again, indulgently, and busied herself in tidying the apartment; an occupation which would have incensed Ninian, since her idea of neatness seemed to him to be but the “disarrangement” of the heaps of papers and manuscript sheets scattered everywhere about, had he not been otherwise interested. A hasty examination of the messages he had received evoked his exultant exclamation:
“Hurrah! The very thing!”
“Good news?” asked the attendant.
“The best in the world. The doctor’s prescription, filled to the letter. A ranch and new business. Say, would you mind going out for a bit? I’d like to get into some other togs and in a hurry. If I can, I’ll make the one o’clock train.”
“The––one o’clock train!” gasped the bewildered nurse, believing that her charge’s brain had given away, even as the physician had suggested it might do.
“Exactly. Please don’t be alarmed. Some country friends of mine have invited me to visit them, and 142 I judge they would be glad if I accepted at once. Their invitation fits in excellently with my own needs and, after I’ve dressed for the trip, I’d be grateful to you for packing a few things, while I write to the bank and telephone to some other places. Just touch that messenger call, will you, please?”
Certainly, he did not now look very like a sick man, as he sprang up and looked about him; save that he put his hand to his head because of a momentary dizziness and seemed somewhat unsteady on his feet. However, his eyes had lost their dullness and a faint color had come into his cheeks; and the attendant saw no reason for opposing his sudden determination.
The letter was Jessica’s, and its envelope had been mended by the postmaster after he had taken it, torn, from the mail pouch. The telegram was from Ephraim Marsh, and had been sent by the first messenger to Marion after that scene in the pantry with Aunt Sally and the little boys. It had been delayed by the curiosity of the operator, but had reached Mr. Sharp at last; and its import was that:
“If you’re willing to use your brains for Sobrante folks, as you used them once before, now’s the time. There’ll be a led horse at Marion till you come, and the sooner the better. ‘Forty-niner.’”
“A led horse. Why, he must have forgotten, if he ever knew, that I’ve my own Nimrod here, that Mrs. Trent insisted upon my accepting, when I left Sobrante before. The horse must go with me, of course, and I flatter myself I can pick up a bit of instruction on riding among those fine ‘boys’ of the little captain’s. I’ll send a return message––no, I 143 won’t, either. I’ll trust to luck and surprise them. Now to get ready.”