Instinctively she pressed the page to her lips, “Darling Dad!” she breathed. “I don’t care if I was disappointed and if things aren’t just—” she paused. The call of those urchins came back like a black shadow. “But don’t you dream bad dreams, dad,” she meditated. “For your little tom-boy is going to fight the big game right to the end.”
The promise of a pretty silk dress from the Philippines, contained in the letter, brought a thrill to Gloria, “for then I can prove to every one just where my dad is travelling,” she reflected.
The letter finished for the third time, and read in full to her aunt for the final consideration, Gloria again determined to summon courage and ask about those children.
“Is this house all plaster?” she began, adroitly.
“Oh no. It’s concrete,” replied the aunt rather proudly.
“Who builds that sort of house, a mason?”
“Yes. We had quite a raft of them—”
“That Gorman out Crystal Spring way is one of the big masons, isn’t he? Did he do this work?” Gloria almost choked trying to say all that without showing suspicion.
“Gorman?” repeated her aunt incredulously. “Well, I should think not.” (Gloria sighed with relief) “Why do you ask about him?” queried the aunt, sharply.
“Oh, his children go to Sandford School in the lower grade, of course, and I heard some one say the father was a mason. The children look quite forlorn,” she ended, as if her interest were purely sympathetic.