"It feels like——"
She laughed.
"Then try to look like it," she suggested. "Why, you look positively seasick to-day."
I didn't stop to explain my bearing false witness, but dashed past her to the head of the stairs. Captain Macauley's office was on a lower floor, and by the time I had gone leisurely down the steps I had quieted my eyelids somewhat.
"Well, Grace—how about the illegitimate use of weapons?" the old man laughed, lifting his shaggy head from the front page of the day's Herald, as I entered. "Sit down! Sit down—I want to talk with you."
But for a moment he failed to talk. He looked me over quizzically, then turned to his desk and drew a yellow envelope from a pigeonhole. It was a telegram. I opened it wonderingly.
"Pauline Calhoun met with a serious motor-car accident yesterday and will be compelled to cancel her contract with you." I read. I looked at the old man.
"To go abroad this summer for the Herald?" I asked.
He nodded.
"We've advertised her going," he said mournfully. "And the transportation is here."