“Unless they’re all fools up there she’ll be detained some time,” said Scott, disgustedly. “Well, I’ll go and get the Morgans on the wire and see if they’ve seen anything of her,” and he strode away toward the office.
Mrs. Van Zandt sat watching him as he swung down the street. The sun’s gilding had faded from the mountains and it was growing dark. Here and there a star peeped out as though to commiserate Athens upon its loneliness.
“It is lonely,” Mrs. Van said to herself. “I don’t know as I ever felt it so much before. I hope it don’t mean that we’re going to have trouble. Sometimes I think I must be psychic—I seem to sense things so. Wish that girl had stayed at home, but, Lord, I’d of done the same thing at her age. That’s a youngster’s first idea when things go wrong—to run away. As though you could run away from things!”
The lady shook her head pessimistically and drew her sweater more closely about her as the air grew chillier. A short plump figure with a shawl wrapped around its head came out from the back of the house and melted into the darkness.
“Is that you, Dolores?”
“Si. The deeshes all feenish,” said Dolores, promptly.
“Did you wash out the dish towels?”
“Si. All done. I go to bed.” Dolores disappeared.
“You’re a liar,” breathed Mrs. Van, softly. “You ain’t goin’ to bed, you’re goin’ to set and spoon with that good-looking cousin of yours. Well, go to it. You’re only young once and this country’d drive a woman to most anything.” Her eyes twinkled humorously. When Mrs. Van’s eyes twinkled you forgot that her face was hard.
“My, but they’re hittin’ it up on Broadway about this time! Let’s see—it’ll be about eleven—the theatres just lettin’ out, crowds going up and down and pouring into restaurants. Say, ain’t it queer the difference in people’s lives? There’s them sitting on plush and eating lobster, and here’s me looking into emptiness and half expecting to see a Yaqui grinning at me from behind a bush! Hullo, you back?”