“It’s doubly annoying,” said Jimsy, in an impatient voice, “because we got a wire from father to-night, saying that he would take us on a trip to Washington with him if we arrived in New York by eight-thirty.”
“Oh, you poor dears,” exclaimed Peggy, “and if you don’t get there at that time?”
“We can’t go, that’s all,” said Jess, tragically clasping her gloved hands.
“Bother the luck,” muttered Jimsy, with masculine grumpiness. “Found out what’s the trouble, Roy?”
“Yes,” was the response; “one of your gears is stripped. I’m afraid that there’ll be no Washington trip for you folksies.”
The tears rose in Jess’s fine eyes. Jimsy looked cross, and an abrupt silence fell.
It was Peggy who broke it with a suggestion.
“There’s a train leaves Central Riverview junction at six, isn’t there?”
“I believe so,” rejoined Jess, in a doleful voice; “we took it one night, I remember, when we missed the through cars from Sandy Bay.”
“It’s five now,” nodded Peggy, examining the dial of a tiny watch, one of the last presents her father had given her.