“Listen here, Mrs. Webb,” broke in Oscar, a little forgetful of his etiquette in his excitement. “We found the door locked on the inside,—bolted, too,—we broke in,—so you see it’s most mysterious, ma’am.”
“Broke in! How dared you?”
“Hush, mother, I told them to,” interrupted Henrietta; “there’s something strange,—inexplicable,—impossible, even! What shall we do?”
“What is there to do, but wait for Kim to come back and explain matters?”
“How can he come back? How did he get out? How—”
“Don’t be foolish, Henrietta. However he got out, he can certainly come back. I’ve not the slightest doubt he’s over at Elsie’s.”
“At nine o’clock in the morning!”
“It’s half after now,—nearly ten. He must be over there, for where else would he go,—on his wedding day? Why don’t you telephone Elsie, and inquire?”
“Oh, mother, you are talking rubbish! Try to see things more clearly. Kimball’s gone, and—he’s mysteriously gone!”
“Pooh, people don’t go mysteriously nowadays. Kim’s all right; he’ll turn up soon, and have a good laugh at you.”