Presently they sighted the little house which made a home for the Davis twins. It was quaint, and had a row of latticed rose-bushes in front where every body else kept their porch, and the porch was a side “stoop,” square and comfy looking. The Misses Davis were known for their good taste, and the inherited boat model may have favorably influenced it.
Babs jumped out of the car. “Doesn’t seem to be any one around,” she remarked as she left Cara.
No one was at home, they soon found out, and after vain attempts to get a response for her knocks, Babs returned to the car.
“I hope she isn’t dead in there all alone,” she remarked facetiously. She was anxious about the worried little woman, but not to the point so carelessly expressed.
“No danger. Only the good die of lost boat models,” Cara said, keeping up the feeble joke. “We can go right over to the Community House now, can’t we?”
“I suppose so,” sighed Barbara. “But I wish I could get a word in with Miss Davis. She may go talking around, and you see, she couldn’t mention Nicky’s name without mentioning mine.”
“That is a nuisance,” her friend agreed. “Did you tell your father?” Cara asked suddenly.
“No.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. It is about the first thing of importance that I have ever kept from him, too. Makes me feel guilty,” Babs confessed. “Let’s go down to the old show and I’ll deliver the grandmother fancy work. That ought to help,” she tried to joke, but there was little mirth in the effort.