The faint blush that washed up into Dorothy Dale’s face like a gentle wave on the sea-strand made her look “ravishing,” so Tavia declared. She simply had to stop to hug her friend before she went on. Dorothy recovered her serenity almost at once.
“Don’t tease, dear,” she said. “Go on with your story.”
“You see, the little cash-girl—or ‘check’, as they call them—picked the bag up off the floor and hid it under her apron. Then she was scared—especially when Mr. Schuman chanced to come upon us all as we were quarreling. I suppose Mr. Schuman seems like a god to little Forty-seven.
“Anyhow,” Tavia pursued, “whether the child meant to steal the bag or not at first, she was afraid to say anything about it then. Her sister—this girl who came to the hotel—works in the house furnishing department. Before night Forty-seven told her sister. She had heard Mr. Knapp’s name, and from the shipping clerk the big girl obtained the name of the hotel at which Mr. Knapp was staying. Do you see?”
“Yes,” breathed Dorothy. “Go on, dear.”
“Why, the girl just came here and asked for Mr. Knapp and found he was out. She didn’t know any better than to linger about outside and wait for him to appear—like Mary’s little lamb, you know! Little Forty-seven had told her sister what Mr. Knapp looked like, of course.”
“Of course!” cried Dorothy, agreeing again, but in such a tone that Tavia frankly stared at her.
“I do wish I knew just what is the matter with you to-day, Doro,” she murmured.
“And the rest of it?” demanded Dorothy, her eyes shining and her cheeks still pink.
“Why, when little Forty-seven’s sister saw us with Mr. Knapp she jumped to the correct conclusion that we were the girls who had lost the money, and so she was afraid to speak right out before us——”