“What good would that do?” asked Laurie. “They might give her a room to sleep in, but how would she live? You know perfectly well that they wouldn’t be willing to let her use their kitchen to make her cakes and things in. And if she doesn’t make cake and sell it she can’t buy food or clothes—”
Laurie paused, suddenly remembering that he had neglected to mention the pathetic fact that Miss Comfort had worn the same dress for years and years. He wished he hadn’t forgotten that, and he wondered if it was too late now to bring it in.
“Well, I’ll say it’s mighty hard luck for the poor woman,” said Ned finally, “but I’m blessed if I can see what any of us can do. If you’ve got any silly idea in your head that Bob and I are going to buy a house for Miss Comfort to spend the rest of her days in—”
“Don’t be an ass,” begged Laurie.
“All right, but why the locked door, then? And why all the—the talk about it?”
“Nod’s got a scheme,” said Bob, and he beamed trustfully at Laurie.
Ned grunted suspiciously. “Bet you it calls for money,” he said.
“It doesn’t,” replied Laurie. “At least, only a few pennies. The price of a telegram to Sioux City, Iowa, and, divided among the three of us, that won’t amount to anything, I guess.”
“Sioux City, Iowa?” exclaimed Ned. “What for? Why not send it to New York? It wouldn’t cost nearly so much.”