“No, not any definite one. She heard from the man's wife sayin' that her husband—the cousin—had gone on a fishin' trip somewheres up in Canady and wouldn't be back afore the eighth of next month. Soon's he does come he'll write her. But Mr. Hilton thinks, and so do I—havin' heard a few things about this cousin—that it's mighty doubtful if he sends any money.”
“Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Where's Olive goin' to stay while she's waitin' to hear?”
“In her own house. Mr. Hilton went to Williams and pleaded with him, and he finally agreed to let her stay there until the 'Colonial' is moved onto the lot. Then the Edwardses house'll be tore down and Olive'll have to go, of course.”
The depot master puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.
“She won't hear before the tenth, at the earliest,” he said. “And if Williams begins to move his 'Colonial' at once, he'll get it to her lot by the seventh, sure. Have you given him your figures for the job?”
“Handed 'em in this very mornin'. One of his high-and-mighty servants, all brass buttons and braid, like a feller playin' in the band, took my letter and condescended to say he'd pass it on to Williams. I'd liked to have kicked the critter, just to see if he COULD unbend; but I jedged 'twouldn't be good business.”
“Probably not. If the 'Colonial' gets to Olive's lot afore she hears from the Omaha man, what then?”
“Well, that's the worst of it. The minister don't know what she'll do. There's plenty of places where she'd be more'n welcome to visit a spell, but she's too proud to accept. Mr. Hilton's afraid she'll start for Boston to hunt up a job, or somethin'. You know how much chance she stands of gettin' a job that's wuth anything.”
Phinney paused, anxiously awaiting his companion's reply. When it came it was very unsatisfactory.
“I'm goin' to the depot,” said the Captain, brusquely. “So long, Sim.”