"Yes," spoke Belle, "there was a fire at the hotel, and she was a doctor. Of course, we didn't count when there were men to be bandaged up."
"A fire!" repeated Mr. Rand. "At a hotel! The Restover, I'm sure.
Why, that is my hotel. I mean I am one of the owners, and on my way up
I met the woman doctor. So she was your chaperon! Well, I declare!
Now, that's what I call a coincidence. That young woman—let me see.
She was nursing the head waiter. Ha, ha! a good fellow to nurse.
Always keep in with the head waiter."
"Oh, he was that good-looking fellow, Cora," said Hazel. "Don't you remember how he soared around?"
"A bird, eh?" and Mr. Rand laughed again. "Well, say," and his voice went down into the intimate key, "I wouldn't be surprised if your chaperon gave up her business. I heard some remarks about how very devoted she was to that head waiter."
"Oh, Miss Robbins would never marry a waiter!" declared Belle. "Why, she's a practicing physician!"
"But sometimes the practice is hard and uncertain," Mr. Rand reminded them. "I shouldn't be surprised when I go back there to straighten up accounts to find the doctor and the waiter 'doing nicely.'"
"But how is the man we—that is—who went to the hospital?" asked Cora eagerly. "He was very badly hurt."
"Oh, Jim, wasn't it? Why, he is getting along! By crackie!" and he slapped his knee again, "I have it! It was you who took Jim to the hospital! Now, I see! A motor girl with black hair and a maroon machine! Now, I have, more than ever, reason to be your friend, Miss Kimball. Jim has been with me for years, and had he died as the result of an accident at Restover—well, I shouldn't have gotten over it easily."
"But some one had to take him," said Cora modestly.
"Oh, I know all about that. That's like your excuse for speeding, and it's like Betty again. Wait until she hears that you saved Jim."