"Tom's out on the bridge," stated Lord James.
"He is? How do you know?" queried Mr. Leslie.
"It's a hundred to one odds. That wire to Griffith—'On the job,' y' know. He'll be where the most work is going on. I'll go fetch him."
"If you will, James," said Genevieve. "Tell him that papa—not I—You understand."
"Trust me!" He smiled, glanced appealingly at Dolores, met a frown, and started briskly away out the service-track.
"Wait," ordered Dolores. "I'll go, too. I've never been out on an unfinished bridge."
"You'll not. You'll stay ashore," interposed her mother.
"Oh fudge! Trot along, then, Mr. Scarbridge."
At her call, Lord James had halted and turned about, eagerly expectant. As, disappointed, he started on again, she addressed Mr. Leslie: "I'm not going back into that stuffy car, Uncle Herbert. Where's the place you call the office?"
He pointed to Ashton's quarters, and she skipped forward, past the engine, before her mother could interfere. The others followed her, wrapping their furs close about them to shut out the bitterly cold wind.