"I certainly do not want to put you to any inconvenience."
Hertha's tone was polite, but at heart she felt angry. She wanted to see New York and her companion had killed all desire she might have had to see Boston. She was hot with excitement when later they drew into the station.
"What did you give your bags to another boy for?" Miss Witherspoon questioned.
They were in a crowd of people, hurrying off the trains. Miss Witherspoon had seized upon a porter to whom she had given her luggage, and, on turning around, had found that her companion had extravagantly engaged another.
The young girl murmured an unintelligible reply and her chaperon, intent upon getting a taxi, hurried on ahead.
"Let's not walk so fast," Hertha said to her boy, who answered, smiling, "Reckon you're from the South."
"Reckon I am," was the reply.
"Your friend's getting away from us!" he announced after they had moved slowly down the platform.
"I want her to."
Meanwhile Miss Witherspoon, reaching a taxi, had her luggage settled in it and then looked back for her charge, who was nowhere to be seen. Nervous, yet sure that Hertha would appear in a moment, she stood by her cab, refusing to get inside.