“Didn’t he send out Dodger to commit a burglary?”
“And if he hadn’t you’d never made Dodger’s acquaintance.”
“That’s true; but it doesn’t make burglary any more excusable. Don’t you really think Tim Bolton has got hold of him?”
“If he has, he won’t keep him long, I’ll make oath of that. He might keep him over night, but Dodger would come back in the morning.”
Florence was somewhat cheered by Mrs. O’Keefe’s refusal to believe that Dodger was in any serious trouble, but she could not wholly free herself from uneasiness. When eleven o’clock came she went to bed very unwillingly, and got very little rest during the night. Morning came, and still Dodger did not show up. As we know, he was fairly started on his long voyage, though he had not yet recovered consciousness.
Florence took a very light breakfast, and at the usual time went to Mrs. Leighton’s to meet her pupil. When the study hour was over, she did not remain to lunch, but hurried back, stopping at Mrs. O’Keefe’s apple-stand just as that lady was preparing to go home to prepare dinner.
“Have you seen anything of Dodger, Mrs. O’Keefe?” asked Florence, breathlessly.
“No, I haven’t, Florence. I’ve had my eye out watchin’ for him, and he hasn’t showed up.”
“Is there anything we can do?” asked Florence, anxiously.
“Well, we might go around and see Tim—and find out whether he’s got hold of him.”