"It ain't that exactly," said the station-master. "It might look as if I was meddling myself. I rather not, Mrs. Maze."
She took fire. "Then I'll meddle myself!" she blazed. "There's nothing to hinder my telegraphing, I suppose!"
"I can't hinder you," the station-master admitted.
"Well, then!" She pulled a bunch of yellow telegraph blanks toward her, and consumed three of them in her comprehensive despatch:
Miss Phyllis Desmond,
Lower Merritt, N. H.
Piano left Boston Monday P. M. Broke down on way to Burymouth, where delayed four days. Sent by mistake to Kent Harbor from Mewers Junction. Forwarded to Lower Merritt Monday.
"There! How will that do?" she asked Gaites, submitting the telegram to him.
"That seems to cover the ground," he said, not so wholly hiding the misgiving he began to feel but that she demanded,
"It explains everything, doesn't it?"