Josie nodded, thoughtfully.
"Well, who else did you find disloyal?"
"No one, so far as I can recollect. Everyone I know seems genuinely patriotic—except," as an afterthought, "little Annie Boyle, and she doesn't count."
"Who is little Annie Boyle?"
"No one much. Her father keeps the Mansion House, one of the hotels here, but not one of the best. It's patronized by cheap traveling men and the better class of clerks, I'm told, and Mr. Boyle is said to do a good business. Annie knows some of our girls, and they say she hates the war and denounces Mr. Wilson and everybody concerned in the war. But Annie's a silly little thing, anyhow, and of course she couldn't get out those circulars."
Josie wrote Annie Boyle's name on her tablets—little ivory affairs which she always carried and made notes on.
"Do you know anyone else at the Mansion House?" she inquired.
"Not a soul."
"How old is Annie?"
"Fourteen or fifteen."