“It’s now six o’clock, and my train don’t leave till nine,” he mused. “But am I going on that train, that’s the question?”
The fact was, now he came to think of it, there was no need of hurrying home. He would stay a while and look this mystery in the face until he was disillusioned. Besides he wanted to find out what McLeod’s visit meant. He had a vague feeling of uneasiness when he recalled the way McLeod had assumed about the General’s house. He had told Sallie he must hurry home on the morning’s train for no earthly reason than that he had intended to do so when he came.
So after breakfast he wrote her a little note.
“My Dear Miss Worth,
“My train left me. Will you have compassion on a stranger in a strange city and let me call to see you again to-day? Charles Gaston.”
He waited impatiently until he heard his train leave, and then told the boy to make tracks for the General’s house.
A peal of laughter rang through the hall when Sallie’s dancing eyes read that note.
“Oh! the storyteller!” she cried.
And this was the answer she sent back.
“Certainly. Come out at once. I ’ll take you buggy driving all by myself over a lovely road up the river. I do this in acknowledgment of the gracious flattery you pay me in the story you told about the train. Of course I know you waited till the train left before you sent the note. Sallie Worth.”