Without a word her father disappeared through a door. He reappeared a moment later holding a well-worn leather bag. In it were their summer’s savings. He counted out some soiled bills. “She said she’d pay it back,” was his quiet comment. “Such folks don’t often go back on their word. Here’s the money.”
“Turkey,” he addressed himself next to his son, “you hitch old Billy to the stone-boat and go after the trunk. We’ll get Mike Donovan to drive Tillie over to the station. If we hurry, there’ll be just about time.”
So it happened that an excited girl stepped from the train in mid-afternoon of the next day in the great city of Chicago. This was Tillie. She had wired ahead to Florence, who was there to meet her. They clasped each other tightly.
“Have you got it?” Florence asked breathlessly.
“The trunk? I have. Here’s the check.”
“Good! It’s fearfully important and too mysterious for words. Let’s go after it at once.”
They were some little time in finding the baggage room in the large depot. When they did there was a crowd waiting and they were obliged to stand in line. To such a pair of eager spirits these waits seemed endless. But at last their time came. With trembling fingers Florence handed over the check. The agent disappeared with it. After some little delay he returned. The check was in his hand.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “Not here yet.”
“Not in,” Florence voiced her disappointment. “It was on the Copper Express.”
“The Copper Express!” The man seemed puzzled. “What sort of a trunk? That baggage—”