Scott, who was standing by the window, turned suddenly.
“Hullo, Jimmy,” he said, with a grin. “Do you know whether Johnson’s gone yet? Well, go over and tell him to drop in at Mrs. Morgan’s and tell her that the young lady got here safely; I can’t get Conejo on the wire.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Adams, please do!” said the girl, eagerly. “She meant to be awfully kind but she was worried to death about those children. I was too tired to have any patience and I felt as if I just had to get away from Conejo.”
“You’re not the first person who’s been struck that way,” grinned Adams, as he left the office.
“Hard tells me he has been talking to you about Juan Pachuca,” said Scott, smiling.
“Well, you wouldn’t, so I had to ask somebody else,” replied Polly. “I’m interested in him.”
“So I noticed. Can’t you pick out something a little more like home-folks to be interested in? Remember the fellow who tried to bring up the tiger cub?”
“What happened to him?” Polly smiled up into Scott’s face. There was something about Scotty that appealed to you even when you were actively engaged in disliking him.
“It grew up and bit him.”
“Oh, and Juan Pachuca seemed so nice and friendly. But I suppose a tiger cub feels soft and furry when it isn’t scratching or biting.”