“Not before to-morrow night. That is the earliest possible time. It is presumed the miners, hearing of the call for help, will bring matters to a climax at once.”
“Dr. Morgan, will you telephone McCantey’s livery? They know my father down there. Tell them to send the man Jefferies if they can, and fast horses. Elizabeth Hobart and I will go to Bitumen to-night. I’ll stop the trouble.”
“Dear child, you’re—crazy,” said Dr. Morgan, surprised by such a suggestion.
“Far from it. I’m going, with or without your permission. Please telephone now, and I’ll explain while I await their coming. Tell them it’s a matter of life and death. If I kill the horses with hard driving, I’ll pay twice what they’re worth. Every minute counts! Won’t you telephone?”
Dr. Morgan obeyed the peremptory request. She believed that news of the strike had affected Nora until she did not know what she was about. She would accede to her request, and perhaps by the time the horses were at the Hall, Miss O’Day would listen to reason.
“Now,” said Nora, the order having been given, “I’ll tell you some facts about myself and my family you never knew. I know who has brought this strike about, and I know how to stop it.” She spoke calmly, methodically. Dr. Morgan seated herself to listen. Miss O’Day began her story. When she had finished, the horses were at the door, Jefferies with them. Dr. Morgan hesitated.
“I’ve known Jefferies for years. He is a friend of my father. He will take care of us,” said Nora, studying the expression of Dr. Morgan’s face.
“Then go, Nora. My prayers go with you.”
A few minutes later, Elizabeth, the center of a laughing group, was drawn hurriedly aside by Nora.
“Here’s a long storm coat. Put it on over your light dress. We have no time to change. Put on the cap, and tie a heavy veil upon it. It is raining; but it will matter little.” The speaker was enveloped in a long, dark, travelling cloak, beneath which her orange colored gown showed. A soft hat swathed in a heavy veil hid her head and face.