“You know Miss Pyce, of course,” Louisiana said. “Spell it with a y, please! We ran bump into each other in Piccadill last week. Cissie had engaged a deck stateroom all to herself, little swell, and that’s how I could get back on this boat.”
“But why did you come in such a hurry?” Brainard asked, when Miss Pyce was diverted to the inspection of her trunks. “I thought you were to stay over until the fall.”
Louisiana looked softly up out of her gray eyes. “But you see Cissie told me all about it!”
“Told you what?”
“That your mine had gone dry, or something, and the theater had to close, and you were in a hole generally.”
“But that wouldn’t have made any difference about you—at least at present. I told Farson not to write you of our troubles.”
“He didn’t. If it hadn’t been for Cissie, I shouldn’t have known a thing, though she said it was all in the papers. But I never read the papers over there.”
“I wish Cissie had kept her mouth shut!”
“She couldn’t, you know, if she had something nasty about the People’s to tell. But ain’t you the least bit glad to see me, after all my hustle to get here as quick as I could?”
“You know I am awfully glad!”