“Perhaps you remember how she looked. She was here when we all came over from Roselawn the other day, talking with you. I had known about her before. She is a nice girl, Mr. Blair—a working girl,” and she described Bertha’s dress and appearance.
“And you say her name is Blair?”
“Bertha Blair.”
“Can you find her, Miss Jessie?” he asked, with growing interest.
“I am sure I can. She is out at service. She works for a lady here in Stratfordtown. I’ll run right away now and look for her. Perhaps she can sing something good enough to get upon this program. I’ve spoken to Momsy about it.”
Amy Drew ran out with her chum on this errand. They chanced upon Mark Stratford in the main office, and he immediately joined them and found out what they were after.
“Get into my car,” he said. “I know where that street is, and the house too. Run you around there in a jiffy.”
“Dear me! How handy you are, Mr. Stratford,” remarked Amy. “You are a lot nicer to us than Darry and the other boys.”
“You cover me with confusion, Miss Amy,” chuckled Mark. “I’ll begin to believe that I am almost as fine a fellow as this little chap who wrote in to the corporation about a radio set he wants to buy. Some kid, he is! See here.”
He turned around in the driver’s seat and pulled a letter from his pocket. He was still chuckling, but he said: