At the same early hour, an hour far too early for the rest of the house party, Anita Flagg and Helen Page, booted and riding-habited, sat alone at the breakfast table, their tea before them; and in the hands of Anita Flagg was the DAILY REPUBLIC. Miss Page had brought the paper to the table and, with affected indignation at the impertinence of the press, had pointed at the front-page photograph; but Miss Flagg was not looking at the photograph, or drinking her tea, or showing in her immediate surroundings any interest whatsoever. Instead, her lovely eyes were fastened with fascination upon the column under the heading “The Red Cross Girl”; and, as she read, the lovely eyes lost all trace of recent slumber, her lovely lips parted breathlessly, and on her lovely cheeks the color flowed and faded and glowed and bloomed. When she had read as far as a paragraph beginning, “When Sister Anne walked between them those who suffered raised their eyes to hers as flowers lift their faces to the rain,” she dropped the paper and started for telephone.
“Any man,” cried she, to the mutual discomfort of Helen Page and the servants, “who thinks I'm like that mustn't get away! I'm not like that and I know it; but if he thinks so that's all I want. And maybe I might be like that—if any man would help.”
She gave her attention to the telephone and “Information.” She demanded to be instantly put into communication with the DAILY REPUBLIC and Mr. Sam Ward. She turned again upon Helen Page.
“I'm tired of being called a good sport,” she protested, “by men who aren't half so good sports as I am. I'm tired of being talked to about money—as though I were a stock-broker. This man's got a head on his shoulders, and he's got the shoulders too; and he's got a darned good-looking head; and he thinks I'm a ministering angel and a saint; and he put me up on a pedestal and made me dizzy—and I like being made dizzy; and I'm for him! And I'm going after him!”
“Be still!” implored Helen Page. “Any one might think you meant it!” She nodded violently at the discreet backs of the men-servants.
“Ye gods, Parker!” cried Anita Flagg. “Does it take three of you to pour a cup of tea? Get out of here, and tell everybody that you all three caught me in the act of proposing to an American gentleman over the telephone and that the betting is even that I'll make him marry me!”
The faithful and sorely tried domestics fled toward the door. “And what's more,” Anita hurled after them, “get your bets down quick, for after I meet him the odds will be a hundred to one!”
Had the REPUBLIC been an afternoon paper, Sam might have been at the office and might have gone to the telephone, and things might have happened differently; but, as the REPUBLIC was a morning paper, the only person in the office was the lady who scrubbed the floors and she refused to go near the telephone. So Anita Flagg said, “I'll call him up later,” and went happily on her ride, with her heart warm with love for all the beautiful world; but later it was too late.
To keep himself fit, Sam Ward always walked to the office. On this particular morning Hollis Holworthy was walking uptown and they met opposite the cathedral.
“You're the very man I want,” said Hollworthy joyously—“you've got to decide a bet.”