“Oh, no,” Scoop said quickly.
“Where is he now?”
“In the old Matson mill.”
She gave a low cry, as though something pained her on the inside where her heart was.
“Howard,” she inquired earnestly, calling Scoop by his given name, “are you a friend of mine?”
“You bet I’m your friend, Mrs. Kelly.”
“Will you help me?”
“Tell me what to do,” he waggled, “and I’ll do it as best I can.”
“Me, too,” I put in, excited.
It was plain to us now that Mrs. Kelly wasn’t on the soap man’s side. We were glad.