“O, I fancy Bethany, being a nice child, would make friends and settle down to business. She would adapt herself to a changed environment. She would make a pretty little thief.”
“Tom, don’t jest on such a subject,” said Berty, passionately. Then she went on in a musing tone, “Since this affair began I have thought so much of another kidnaping case that Barry told me about.”
“O, that New York affair?”
“Yes—the only son of a widow. O, Tom, suppose our baby were taken from us?”
“Are you pining to be left childless and a widow?” he asked, pointedly.
“Tom, don’t. You have that hopeless national habit of jesting upon every subject. Do be serious. I assure you I dream of that widow.”
“Why doesn’t she get her boy back?”
“She can’t raise the money. She hasn’t got it. Barry thinks the Smalley gang is in the affair. I wonder whether these women would know anything about it?”
“Possibly; ask them.”
“I will; and Tom, as soon as we get home telephone to the fish market to have a boat sent for Barry. I want him to come up this evening and talk over this affair.”