“Yes,” said Tavia.
“Oh, my dear! is that why he wrote you the other time? Of course! And he says he can’t find him. Dimples Knapp he calls him. Oh, my dear!”
“Well,” said Tavia, in the same gruff voice. “Read on.” She did not turn from the window.
“Oh, Tavia!” Dorothy said in a moment or two. “Those men are out there buying up wheat lands—Stiffbold and Lightly. Lance says he has met them.”
“I am afraid your friend, ‘Garry Owen,’ will be beat,” said Tavia, shrugging her shoulders. “Do you see what Lance says next?”
“He thinks he may get word of this Knapp he knows in a few days. Thinks he may be working for a man named Robert Douglas. Oh, Tavia! Of course he is! That is the name of his employer!”
But Tavia displayed very little interest. “I had forgotten,” she said.
“Bob Douglas! Of course you remember! And Lance says he’ll get word to him and tip him off, as he calls it, about the land-sharks. Oh, Tavia!”
Her friend still looked out of the window. Dorothy shook her by the elbow, staring at the written lines of Lance Petterby’s letter.
“What does this mean?” she demanded. “‘Sue sends her best, and so does Ma.’ Who is Sue?”