“Were they!” cried Marion, her eyes snapping angrily. “Why, they were so shocked at my suggestion that they came near dying on the spot of sheer mortification.”
“A couple of empty-headed pugs,” said Bert, disgustedly, “but anyhow, you didn’t need ’em. You found Dollie all right, Marion.”
“Here’s a dreadful thing,” exclaimed Marion, after a minute. “A boy of sixteen run over by a cable car. He was killed almost instantly, and they have taken him to the morgue. Unless some one claims him he’ll be buried in Potter’s Field.”
“Poor chap,” said Dollie, with tears in her eyes. “He may have been a country boy who was not familiar with the city.”
“The cars are awful,” said Marion, with a sigh. “I always hold my breath when I start over a crossing.”
There was a tap on the door and the maid announced a caller. Marion looked at the card, and then handed it to Dollie.
“Ralph Moore,” read Dollie, with the blood mantling her pretty face. “Shall we ask him to come upstairs? There is no other place to see him.”
Marion stopped a moment and glanced at the table, where the remnants of their frugal supper were still standing.
“Yes, tell him to come up,” she said, very firmly. “He may as well see us as we are, then there will be no misunderstanding.”
At ten o’clock promptly the two young men left, with Dollie and Mr. Moore more in love than ever.