She looked up and saw Chub still standing at the sidewalk in front of her home. He hadn’t gone to the Journal office, but was just standing there. Now, he was starting, slowly because of the long skirt, but he was going north instead of over to the Journal. Where could he be going in that garb?
Suddenly she realized that his mind had been working along the same lines as her own. She was sure just where Chub was going and why—he was going after that picture. It was just like him, and he, too, wanted to help Tim.
Oh, she shouldn’t let him. Why, that was a terrible thing, even for a mischievous office boy to do.
“Chub,” she called, “you better come back here.”
But the strangely attired figure hurried on. “Well, let him go,” thought Joan. “Maybe he won’t get the picture after all, but if he does it’ll be wonderful.” She hopped up, deciding, “I’ll just trail along after him.” Why, this was even more thrilling than the mystery about Dummy.
CHAPTER VIII
CHUB TAKES A HAND
And as for Chub—
He had had no idea of going over to the Journal office and showing off. He hadn’t known precisely how else to get away from Joan, and that had been as good a way as any. Not that he would really have minded confiding his scheme to her. She was a good sport, and usually as much fun as a boy. But somehow he felt in his bones that she might object, and when Joan felt strongly about anything, she could lay down the law to him and be as bossy as her friend, Amy. He had decided not to give her the opportunity. After it was all over and he had the picture safely in his hands, that was time enough to tell her how he had come by it.
It was the old Doughnut Woman who’d given him the idea of getting into the King home, disguised, and capturing the picture. He had nearly told Joan his plan, but hesitated, realizing what a “stickler” for honesty she was.
No, this was something Joan had better not get mixed up with. Girls couldn’t do things like this; things like masquerading and snatching things off people’s mantels were for men to do. Chub had come to the Journal office, full of stories he had read about newspaper reporters. Of course, he supposed things like that didn’t really happen in real life, though old Cookie was always saying stranger things happened than were ever read in books. Hadn’t Cookie played the rôle of chore boy in order to get that story when he was on the New York Banner? And the secret about Dummy and the mysterious mistakes—gosh, now, that’d make a swell detective story.