Meanwhile Timmy's father and mother, at the hotel, were far from happy. They stopped for a paper on their way to the opera on Thursday night; and on their return, finding no later edition procurable, telephoned one of the newspapers to ask whether there was anything in the reports that the rivers were rising up round Emville. On Friday morning Jerry, awakening, perceived his wife half-hidden in the great, rose-colored window draperies, barefoot, still in her nightgown, and reading a paper.
"Jerry," said she, very quietly, "can we go home today? I'm worried. Some of the Napa track has been washed away and they say the water's being pushed back. Can we get the nine o'clock train?"
"But, darling, it must be eight now."
"I know it."
"Why not telephone to Belle, dear, and have them all come into Emville if you like."
"Oh, Jerry—of course! I never thought of it." She flew to the telephone on the wall. "The operator says she can't get them—they're so stupid!" she presently announced.
Jerry took the instrument away from her and the little lady contentedly began her dressing. When she came out of the dressing-room a few moments later, her husband was flinging things into his suitcase.
"Get Belle, Jerry?"
"Nope." He spoke cheerfully, but did not meet her eyes. "Nope. They can't get 'em. Lines seem to be down. I guess we'll take the nine."
"Jerry,"—Molly Tressady came over to him quietly,—"what did they tell you?"