“Suppose we keep Sammy here a little while,” suggested Luke in a low voice. “It isn’t very late and we might need him. I have an idea,” he added.
“All right,” agreed Ruth, after a quick look at her friend. “You may stay a little longer, Sammy.”
“Goodie!” cried Tess and Dot.
The children were not much interested in the odd note—particularly when they saw Linda come in with cake and ice cream. And while Sammy and the small girls were enjoying this feast in one corner of the room, the others gathered under the light to read again the strange message.
What did it mean?
CHAPTER XIII
A MIDNIGHT TRYST
There could be no question but what the message was from a Chinese. Everything about it indicated that—the paper, the ink, and the peculiar manner in which even the English letters were formed with a brush in its bamboo holder, worked in an upright manner, after the style of Chinese from time immemorial.
“Yes, I guess Hop Wong wrote it all right,” agreed Neale. “But wait a minute. I have one of his laundry checks in my pocket now, and I mustn’t forget to call for my clean shirts. You’re going to have some more parties, aren’t you?” he appealed beseechingly to Ruth and Agnes.
“Oh, I suppose so, silly boy!” laughed Agnes. “But what has that to do with this?”
“A lot, maybe,” declared Neale. “I’ll compare a laundry check that Hop Wong positively gave me with this paper and we’ll see if they are alike.”