"His address?" said Peaches chokingly. "Why, Monteventi is his address, surely?"
"Yeh—but he give me another one besides," said Dick. "Though, of course, I heard after that he had gone West, and so I kind of forgot about it."
"If he had another address it must have been where he could be reached in an emergency!" cried Peaches. "Can't you remember it, Dicky? Oh, think! Please try to remember it!"
"I guess maybe I got it on me," said he with a curious shyness. "I—wrote it on the back of your picture. I—I carried it along through the war. I might have it now, at that."
From the inside of his coat he took a thin wallet, through which he pretended to search while we watched breathlessly. And there, as I had anticipated, was the portrait of Alicia—Alicia at sixteen with her heavy hair in braids over either shoulder and a Mexican sombrero shading her laughing eyes. He turned it over and she gave a little cry as she recognized her lover's name—followed by an address in Hoboken!
We exchanged a look of wonder.
"By gosh, I'll bet a dollar that's where he is to-night!" exclaimed Talbot. "Not a very tasty neighborhood, but just the kind of a place a bird like him would fly to for cover. And see the way I was to address him. S. M., care of Smith! He said they forwarded his mail for him. Peaches, I'll go there for you the minute I get you two girls safe at a hotel!"
"You will not!" said Peaches. "Because we are going with you."
"Oh, come—that's not right!" protested Dick. But nothing would dissuade Peaches.
"Well—we may need some money," said he, at length consenting to the mad scheme. "I've a few dollars, but eventually we'll have to get some more. Did you bring any, Peaches?"