Mr. Curtin looked at her, puzzled. Then, when he saw the expression on her face, he followed her out the door.
“Vicki,” he said anxiously, “are you ill?”
“Mr. Curtin—the man who offered us that Tampa souvenir—he said it was solid gold—” Vicki stammered, not quite sure how to explain the confused thoughts that were still spinning around in her head.
“Yes?” Mr. Curtin said. “Of course, it was just a fake.”
“Mr. Curtin,” Vicki blurted out, “I’ve got to buy that ship! Will you lend me the money—and—and help me find that man?”
“But—but I don’t understand,” Mr. Curtin said.
“Please trust me, Mr. Curtin! Please believe me! It’s important! I’ve just got to have that gold ship!”
Mr. Curtin didn’t understand. But he was conscious of the desperate urgency in Vicki’s eyes, and in her voice. He knew she was a level-headed girl, not one to be carried away by foolish notions. He had found that out during the short time she had been his daughters’ house guest.
“Just a minute,” he said, and turned back into the shop.
“Louise,” he said. “Nina. You girls stay right here. Vicki and I will be back in a moment.”