“Perhaps there is no space for a ray to form,” Myra suggested.
“You must tell Mr. Garnesk how deeply grateful we all are to him,” said Dennis. “I’ll give you a letter to take back to him. It has been a wonderfully quick bit of work!”
“I should think he has got some hundreds of the glasses finished by this time,” said McKenzie, “and he has already asked for an estimate for fifty thousand of them.”
“Whatever for?” Myra exclaimed.
“I couldn’t say at all, but Mr. Garnesk probably has it all mapped out. He always knows what he’s about.”
A couple of hours later McKenzie left for Glenelg, with ample time to catch his boat, and the others sat down to lunch. Myra was delighted that she could see, even though everything was red. Just as they had finished lunch a telegram was delivered to Dennis. It was handed in at Mallaig, and it read: “Don’t worry about me. May be away for a few days.—Ewart.”
“Oh, good!” exclaimed Dennis. “A wire from Ron. He’s all right. ‘Don’t worry about me. May be away for a few days.’ Sent from Mallaig. He may have got something he feels he must tell Garnesk about, and has gone to Glasgow.”
“I expect that’s it,” Myra agreed. “I’m glad he’s wired. I do hope he’ll write from wherever he is to-night. Do you think I shall get a letter in the morning?”
“Certain to,” Dennis vowed, laying the telegram on the mantelpiece. “He’s sure to write, however busy he is.”