Presently she returned and started to put on her things.
“It looks a little bit like rain, doesn’t it?” she asked, glancing at the darkened sky, where not a star was visible.
“You can have my umbrella, if you wish,” Vance offered, “but I guess it won’t rain yet awhile.”
“Never mind; I’ll chance it. Good night, Vance.”
“Good night, Bessie,” and the outside door closed behind her.
Vance returned to his desk and proceeded to make copious extracts from a pile of pamphlets and reports he had taken from a closet.
In half an hour Mr. Whitemore came out of his sanctum with his hat on.
“You’d better go to supper now, Vance. Meet me promptly at eight o’clock at my rooms,” he said, “and bring everything with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Whitemore left, and the lad, making a bundle of his notes and such papers as he knew were wanted by his employer, turned out the electric lights and locked up the office.