“I admit the latter but deny the former allegation,” said Tavia calmly. “Why do you think I follow the dictates of Lovely Lucy Larriper so faithfully if not for the purpose of keeping my figure intact?”
Dorothy did not answer. She had lapsed into her former mood and Tavia regarded her chum thoughtfully. Then she deserted the foot of the bed for the arm of Dorothy’s chair.
“Come on, Doro, snap out of it!” she urged. “Nothing ever has been gained by surrendering to the doleful dumps. Suppose Napoleon had been discouraged!”
“Perhaps he was—at Waterloo,” returned Dorothy. But she added quickly in response to Tavia’s impatient gesture: “Now don’t you go lecturing me, Tavia Travers. I will have the doleful dumps or any other kind if I feel like it.”
Tavia felt that her chum was keeping something to herself, but though she questioned her discreetly—and otherwise—she could gain no information from her other than the fact that she expected to go downtown early the following morning.
“Well, buck up, anyway, Doro, and get ready for dinner,” Tavia said finally, as Nat’s voice was heard below calling to the two girls to “join the family in the dining room.” “It won’t help Joe any for you to starve yourself to death.”
“Listen!” cried Dorothy, suddenly jumping to her feet. “Isn’t that Ned talking to Nat? Maybe he has news of Joe.”
Dorothy was out of the room and rushing down the stairs before Tavia had time to more than blink her eyes. She followed her chum in time to see the latter pounce upon Ned with desperate eagerness.
“It isn’t any use, Dot, I’m afraid,” she heard Ned say reluctantly. “I have followed up every possible clue—there were not very many, at that—and none of them seems to lead to Joe. He has disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up.”
They went in to dinner after that, but they made very poor business of eating; all except Tavia, that is, who never allowed anything to interfere with her appetite.