“Because you sent word that you were out when he called.”
“Humph! I see people when I want to see them, not when they want to see me.”
“Then Mr. Perkins is likely to prove permanently invisible to you, if I’m any judge of character.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Brewster impatiently, “manage it yourself. Only impress on him the necessity of getting the message on the wire. I’ll write it out to-night and give it to you with the money to-morrow.”
After luncheon on the following day, Polly, with the cablegram and money in her purse and her automatic safely disposed in her belt, walked in the plaza with Carroll. The legless beggar whined at them for alms. Handing him a quartillo, the Southerner would have passed on, but his companion stood eyeing the mendicant.
“Now, what can there be in that poor wreck to captivate the scientific intellect?” she marveled.
“If you mean Mr. Perkins—” began Carroll.
“I do.”
“Then I think perhaps the reason for some of that gentleman’s associations will hardly stand inquiry.”
The girl turned her eyes on him and searched the handsome, serious face.