“I’m afraid you’re losing one instead. Maxine Miller told me she is moving down to the big hotel.”
“I know. She checked out a half hour ago. Jake made an extra trip to haul her luggage down the mountain.”
“Anyway, I shouldn’t be sorry to see her go if I were you,” comforted Penny. “I am quite sure she hasn’t enough money to pay for a week’s stay at Pine Top.”
Going to her room, Penny changed into more comfortable clothing and busied herself writing a long letter to her father. From her desk by the window she could see skiers trudging up the slopes, some of them making neat herring-bone tracks, others slipping and sliding, losing almost as much distance as they gained.
As she watched, Francine swung into view, poling rhythmically, in perfect timing with her long easy strides.
“She is good,” thought Penny, grudgingly.
Dinner was served at six. Afterwards, the guests sat before the crackling log fire and bored each other with tales of their skiing prowess. A few of the more enterprising ones waxed their skis in preparation for the next day’s sport.
“Any newspapers tonight?” inquired a business man of Mrs. Downey. “Or is this another one of the blank days?”
“Jake brought New York papers from the village,” replied the hotel woman. “They are on the table.”
“Blank days?” questioned Francine, looking up from a magazine she had been reading.