"If Professor Farrago didn't expect a woman stenographer," she said, abruptly, "why did he instruct you to bring a complete outfit of woman's clothing?"
"I don't know," I said, tartly.
"But you bought them. Are they for a young woman or an old woman?"
"I don't know; I sent a messenger to a department store. I don't know what he bought."
"Didn't you look them over?"
"No. Why? I should have been no wiser. I fancy they're all right, because the bill was eighteen hundred dollars—"
The pretty stenographer sat up abruptly.
"Is that much?" I asked, uneasily. "I've always heard women's clothing was expensive. Wasn't it enough? I told the boy to order the best;—Professor Farrago always requires the very best scientific instruments, and—I listed the clothes as scientific accessories—that being the object of this expedition—What are you laughing at?"
When it pleased her to recover her gravity she announced her desire to inspect and repack the clothing; but I refused.
"They're for Professor Farrago," I said. "I don't know what he wants of them. I don't suppose he intends to wear 'em and caper about the jungle, but they're his. I got them because he told me to. I bought a cage, too, to fit myself, but I don't suppose he means to put me in it. Perhaps," I added, "he may invite you into it."