When Florence threw open the door she saw at a glance that Meg had the bag and that the seal was unbroken.
“Tell you what,” began Florence, “you go home with me to-night. To-morrow is Christmas. We don’t have to get up early. We’ll have something hot to drink and some cakes, and we’ll talk a little. Then, just as the clock strikes twelve, we’ll break the seal to the bag. Won’t that be romantic?”
“I should say!” said Meg with gleaming eyes. “That would be spiffy! When do we start?”
“At once,” said Florence, pulling her clothing from the line.
They were not destined to get away so easily, however. Unfortunately for them, there was a person near the entrance to the pier that night whom Meg did not know, had in fact never seen.
The wharf to which the boats were tied lay a distance of about a block south of the entrance to the pier, and the particular boat on which Meg had taken up quarters was tied about two blocks from the end of the pier. In order to reach the car line they were obliged to battle their way against the storm, which had increased in violence, until they were near the entrance to the pier.
They had covered these three blocks and had paused to catch their breath and to watch for the light of a street car boring its way through the whirl of snow, when a gruff voice said:
“Where y’ think y’r goin’?”
“Why, we—” Florence hesitated.
“What you got in that bag?”