"She is due in tomorrow," cried their little friend, and her voice was like delicate music.
"I expect a telegram," he said evenly. "I am somewhat rushed."
"Indeed! But of course, you are a business man, Mr. Baptiste," chimed Miss Rankin with much admiration in her little voice. "How Miss Pitt will like you!"
Jean Baptiste smiled a smile of vanity. He was getting anxious to meet Miss Pitt himself—inasmuch as he expected to ask her to become his wife on the morrow.
"Ting-aling-aling!" went the bell on the street door, and little Miss Rankin rushed forth to open it.
"Special for Mr. Jean Baptiste," he heard and went to get it. After signing, he broke the seal a little nervously, and drawing the contents forth, read the enclosed message.
He sighed when it was over. Miss Pitt had been taken with a severe attack of neuralgia in New York, was indisposed and under the care of a physician, but would be in Chicago in six days. He studied the calendar on the wall. Six days would mean October second!
Too late, Miss Pitt, your chance is gone. And now we turn to the party of the third part who will follow us through our story.
