“Then they must be ‘regular fellows,’” said Walter, jokingly.
“‘Scuse me,” broke in the voice of the waitress—the same one who had waited on the girls—“but de dime tip dey gibbed me wasn’t any good.”
“Why not?” asked Jack.
“It was plugged. Look!” and she exhibited it.
“So it is!” exclaimed Cora’s brother. “They weren’t so regular after all.”
“I didn’t see it till after dey’d gone,” the negress went on.
“Perhaps you can describe them for me,” Jack suggested.
It developed that the waitress could give a better word-picture of the two young men than could the cashier, whose attention, naturally, was taken up with her duties at the desk.
Jack noted down the none too good distinguishing marks as described by the waitress, and went to telephone them to the police as an additional help in capturing those who had gone with Cora’s car.
There was nothing more that could be done just then, and Jack was about to suggest that, by means of a little crowding, he could take his sister and her chums back to Chelton in his car when the young woman who had charge of the tea room entered, it being her hour to go on duty.