"It's only this," continued Elinor. "My trunk hadn't come this morning, and we could get no information when we telephoned. It would be simply awful if it shouldn't arrive in time for me to go to the Senior spread. Kate and I put our things into the one trunk, and I can't understand why it hasn't come. We gave our checks to an expressman at the station. If only I knew the city a little better, I'd go down town, and find out what has happened to it."
"There," exclaimed Martine, laughing, "Your favor is a very simple one. You would like me to pilot you about—with the greatest pleasure."
"I feared you might be too busy," and Elinor glanced around the room, with its half-filled boxes, and books piled on tables, waiting to be packed.
"I should do little more to-day. My mother is staying with friends in Brookline over Sunday. Angelina is out just now, but I'll leave word with the elevator-boy that I'll be back by one."
Martine was soon ready, and after one more vain effort to learn something by telephone about the trunk, the two set out for the downtown express office. There they were equally unsuccessful, and so continued their journey to the great North Station.
The baggage-master was a trifle impatient. It was a warm day, and a busy season, but the two young girls and their evident anxiety appealed to him.
"It's up to the Express Company," he said at last, "to give you your trunk. I have made a careful search, and no trunk with the number on your claim-check is here. You will find it probably at the hotel. I would advise you to go back."
"You are sure it isn't here?" asked Martine.
"Perfectly sure."
"I know it isn't at the hotel. But of course I can ask again," said Elinor. "I am awfully sorry to have brought you on this wild-goose chase, Martine, we might as well turn about now. The whole thing is very queer."