Mrs. Harper fluttered some more. "Oh, I—er—but—where—"
"This way, my dears," Bill said, in a gentle, fatherly tone, as he led them to the Nevada desk.
Mrs. Harper signed her name. As Bill read it he looked up at her with sudden interest. He put a detaining hand on her arm before she could flutter away, and at the same time, turning to the maid, he directed her to have a chair for a moment—at the other side of the lobby, out of earshot.
When the maid had complied Bill looked down at the register. "Mrs. Harper, Truckee," he repeated. Then, glancing up at the surprised and startled little woman, he asked, "Does your husband happen to drive a green automobile, ma'am?"
Mrs. Harper stared at him with the big, frightened eyes of a child. "Why—er—yes. But—why do you ask?"
"I met him last night," said Bill. "He's a fast driver, ain't he? Gets to Truckee in two hours!"
The color rose to the little woman's face. "I don't see—"
"He's a mighty fine feller!" Bill went on, calmly. "Got a pile o' money, too, an' I bet he's some generous with it—specially to them what he loves. People is always makin' fool mistakes. Say, you ain't really goin' to git a divorce, are you?"
Now the astonished little woman's eyes filled with angry tears. "Oh!" she gasped. "Oh! How dare you speak to me like this! It's none of your business!"
"Sure it is," said Lightnin', his voice kindly, confidential. "I know all about it. He didn't git that present for his stenographer."