“No telegram came.”
“Then it’s got stuck, because there’s so many racing messages going. I sent one.”
“Then you must have been a little fool.”
“That I ain’t,” said the girl, petulantly.
“I told you not to write or send.”
“But I was obliged to, I tell you; and as you didn’t come to me in my trouble, I jumped on my bike and I’ve come to you.”
“But what for—what trouble?” cried the boy, stamping impatiently.
“Father’s got hold of your letters and found out everything, dear. You ought to have told ’em by now.”
“But—but—but,” stammered Syd, “where—what—what—oh! why did you come?”
“That’s what I keep telling you, dear. Dad’s half mad, and he’s coming over to see your aunt and uncle.”