I looked at my watch. It was closing on to ten. So I reluctantly got into my coat again, drew on a topcoat, and put on the hat that fitted me. Probably the girl had been writing some fortunate fellow a love-letter. No gentleman will ever overlook a chance to do a favor for a young girl in distress. I had scarcely drawn my stick from the umbrella-jar when the bell rang once again.
"Hello!" I called down the tube. Why couldn't they let me be?
"Lady wants to see you, sir."
"A lady!"
"Yes, sir. A real lady; l-a-d-y. She says she's come to see the gentleman in number six about a plug-hat. What's the graft, anyway?"
"A plug-hat!"
"Yes, sir; a plug-hat. She seems a bit anxious. Shall I send her up? She's a peach."
"Yes, send her up," I answered feebly enough.
And now there was a woman in the case! I wiped the perspiration from my brow and wondered what I should say to her. A woman.... By Jove! the sister of the mischievous boy! Old Chittenden must have told her where he had gone, and as he hasn't shown up, she's worried. It must be a tremendously important letter to cause all this hubbub. So I laid aside my hat and waited, tugging and gnawing at my mustache.... Had the Girl acted reasonably I shouldn't have gone to Martin's that night.