With the departure of the darky a waiting calm fell upon the room. Joe resumed his task at his desk, and Sam continued to flatten out the several parts of his body until each inch of his lower length had found a resting-place.
“Everybody out, or Moses would have come up again,” remarked Joe, glancing at the clock, “been gone five minutes now.”
“Holding a council of war. Mother in tears, and the girl in a rage. At the present moment the lightning-rod man is looking for a club. My advice to you is to get out of that velvet jacket, or it will be mussed up before he gets through with you.”
Five minutes more. No Moses. No irate protector of the family. No news of any kind.
Nor was any further information available the following morning when Moses brought in their breakfast. “Didn’t nobody open de do’ but de hired girl, so I left it,” was his report. Moses’ mental distinction between a hired girl and a servant was convincingly apparent in the tones of his voice.
Nor was there any word sent to the office, nor had any message reached their room when Joe arrived home to dress for dinner. The nearest approach to a possible communication had been when he caught sight of Miss Sue’s back as she tripped out of the front door, just before he reached the sidewalk. But she was gone before he could have overtaken her, had he so wished, the unanswered note having now set up an insurmountable barrier between them.
Positive information reached him on his return home that night. He had occupied a front seat at Wallack’s, Mrs. Southgate having given a débutante a chance to be seen. Sam had kept awake and was waiting for him.
“Well, it’s come, Joe,” he shouted, before the absentee had closed the door behind him.
“What’s come?”
“The letter. She slipped it under the door after you left, and I came mighty near stepping on it when I came in half an hour ago. Looks like a railroad time-table, or a set of specifications.”