Eric went away, smiling to himself. “Just what I wanted,” he muttered. “The gov’nor will remember this conversation afterward.”
Passing down the street he told every acquaintance he met that he was off for St. Louis by the four o’clock train. At the station he made his journey known to the group of loungers and shouted a rather boisterous good-by when the train drew in and he boarded it. He even waved his hat from the back platform until he had passed out of sight. Among those who thus watched Eric’s departure was Donald Daring, who announced the fact at supper that Eric Spaythe had gone to St. Louis by the four o’clock train.
“Must you work at those dreadful books to-night, Phil?” asked Phœbe.
“Only for an hour or so, dear. I put in such steady work this afternoon that a little more will get things in shape.”
“I’ll go down with you, then, and keep you company,” she announced.
As they walked along the street together in the cool of early evening Phil was very thoughtful. Finally, he said to the girl:
“I don’t believe Eric has gone to St. Louis, Phœbe.”
“Why, he must have gone!” she exclaimed. “Don saw him on board the train.”
“I know; but in spite of that I’ve a queer feeling—a sort of suspicion—that he’s playing us a trick.”
“Have you, Phil? But why?”