Because of this acceptance of the invitation, Algy was not to be found when Mrs. Alexander arrived. The man who owned the hotel at Williams, where Algy had stopped, knew only that the trunks had been sent on to Grand Canyon, and that the young man had driven away in another man’s car.
“I’m sure they went on to Grand Canyon, so I’ll take the next train from here. What time will I get there?” said Mrs. Alexander, having to hide her annoyance, since no one was present upon whom she dared vent her anger.
“You’ll have to wait around here for several hours, Ma’am, as there will be no train until four this afternoon. You’ll get to Grand Canyon in time for supper,” explained the man, politely.
“Dear me! And there’s nothing for me to do here, is there?” she exclaimed, impatiently.
“Well, that depends on what you like to do. Now, we-all find so much to do, every day, that the days are too short for us,” laughed the man.
“I suppose everybody—that is every one worth while, goes right through to Grand Canyon, so Williams never sees society people,” remarked Mrs. Alexander, with a superior air, calculated to impress this mere nobody of a man.
“Sometimes society persons find themselves stranded here,” chuckled the man, who cared naught for this lady’s hoity-toity manners. “There happens to be such a man, right this minute—just as mad at being delayed in his plans, as you can be. He’s said to be some punkins back in Chicago, where he’s a big lawyer.”
“Oh, really! Who is he?” asked Mrs. Alexander, finding life might be bearable in Williams.
“Why, he’s the Executor of the White Ranch, down Verde Valley way. He is said to reckon his income with seven figures to the left of the decimal!”
“I do not think I am acquainted with him, though I have met so many millionaires lately that he may be one of them,” mused Mrs. Alexander, seeming to be trying to recollect.