“Yes,” said Elsie, and with a tense, drawn expression, she sat watching the clock.
No one spoke. It was an awful moment, and yet each realized there was no choice but to do as Elsie had decreed.
“Don’t act as if it was a funeral!” Gerty burst out at last, unable to hold the tension longer.
“I’m not!” declared Elsie, indignantly; “and it’s nothing of the sort! I’m just as sure that Kimball will come back to me as—as anything!” she finished, a little lamely.
“If he only comes in time!” wailed Gerty.
“He can’t,” said Whiting; “it’s half-past two now.”
“I don’t mean in time for that!” Gerty said, and Elsie gave her a look of scorn that made her blush, and fairly shrivel beneath her sister’s glance of displeasure.
“It is half-past,” Elsie agreed, and rose, giving herself a little shake, as if disciplining an unwilling child, and went straight to the telephone.
“Every man to his post!” her clear voice rang out, and, obediently her mother and sister went out with their lists.
Whiting delayed a moment.