“Yes, with the—essays,” said Gloria, her eyes following Sam’s car as he rattled along down the roadway.
“Oh, Glo dear. I didn’t mean——” Trixy’s voice was contrite.
“It’s perfectly all right, Trix,” declared Gloria brushing a speck from the window before her. “You couldn’t hurt my feelings about that old essay if you hit me on the head with the—bloated mail bag. I don’t mind it a bit. I’m cured, absolutely. And Miss Alton said a lot of nice things——”
“I should think she well might.”
“She did. And I guess the dear old dad would heartily approve if he knew—all the circumstances.”
“If it takes me a week to write it, I’ll make it my special business to see that he does know all the circumstances.” Trixy was very pretty in her indignation.
“Well, anyhow I’ve got Jane, perhaps for days,” reasoned Gloria. “Do you suppose, Trix, that Miss Alton did that just to be nice?”
“I do not. I know she did it to be nice to Jack, and to her overworked, frail and otherwise feeble assistants. Did you ever see any one wilt like little Whisper Taylor after an indifferent night?”
“She did look peaked. How do you like Jane on the staff?”
“She’s worth a dozen mere intellectuals,” declared Trixy. “But, Glo, what are we going to do about the Pirate’s Daughter? It’s like a game of hide-and-seek.”