Thither Jack betook himself. He found the office without any difficulty, but the housekeeper was very busy, and could not see him at once. The wait was vexatious, but Jack amused himself with noting the peculiar furnishings of the room, that served for an office. It looked more like a big clothes closet for white aprons and gingham aprons, while all sorts of towels were hung around in abundance.
Maids came in and took white aprons, but the presence of a young man evidently prevented them from arranging the swiss ties and sashes there, so those who seemed in a hurry went out with freshly laundered articles on their arms.
Several remarks that Jack overheard seemed to relate to the girls who had left recently, and although he was on the alert to gather any possible definite information, none was forthcoming.
Finally the little window back of a shelf was raised, and the head of an elderly woman was framed therein.
Jack stepped up to the “ticket office.” “Are there two girls named Catron employed here?” he asked.
“I have never had any help of that name,” the woman replied, promptly, but politely.
“Perhaps they have used some other name,” ventured the young man, feeling decidedly ill at ease.
“Why?” asked the housekeeper who, Jack learned, was Miss Turner.
“Well, the girls I am searching for—ran away from their home,” he blurted out.
“Oh my!” exclaimed the woman. “I hope no such young ladies would present themselves at the Wayside Inn.”