Her thoughts were suddenly broken in upon by a breezy figure who appeared to have been blown through the door by a gust of wind.
A ruddy-faced youth, he was, garbed in a blue drill parka that looked like a slip-over dress, corduroy trousers and sealskin boots.
“Hi, Pop!” he exclaimed, not seeing the girl. “Great stuff today. Did fifty miles an’ cut twenty minutes off the time. I—
“Hey, you! Stay out!” he shouted suddenly as a half dozen great gray-brown beasts came tumbling into the room. They struck the young man with such force that he was suddenly thrown into the corner where Florence sat.
“I—I beg pardon,” he stammered. “I didn’t know—”
“Jodie, meet my granddaughter, Florence Huyler.” Wrinkles of amusement appeared about Tom Kennedy’s eyes.
“Your—your granddaughter!” the young man’s eyes opened wide. “Why, Pop, we didn’t know you had a living relative!”
“Neither did I, son. Not until just now. She dropped down from the sky.
“Jodie, here,” Tom Kennedy turned to Florence, “is the uncrowned king of Alaskan dog-mushers.”
“Yeah,” Jodie drawled, “crown’s likely to get a trifle tarnished before I get to wear it.”