If you will see that she has her coffee,
I'll--I'll wait for you here in the hall and try to explain. I can't
tell you everything at present,--not without her consent,--but what I
do tell will be sufficient to make you think you are listening to a
chapter out of a dime novel."
He had already taken Putnam Jones into his confidence. He saw no other
way out of the new and somewhat extraordinary situation.
His uneasiness increased to consternation when he discovered that
Sprouse had not yet put in an appearance. What had become of the man?
He could not help feeling, however, that somehow the little agent
would suddenly pop out of the chimney in his room, or sneak in through
a crack under the door,--and laugh at his fears.
His lovely companion, falling asleep, blocked all hope of a council of
war, so to speak. Miss Thackeray refused to allow her to be disturbed.
She listened with sparkling eyes to Barnes's curtailed account of the
exploit of the night before. He failed to mention Mr. Sprouse. It was
not an oversight.
"Sort of white slavery game, eh?" she said, with bated breath. "Good
gracious, Mr. Barnes, if this story ever gets into the newspapers
you'll be the grandest little hero in--"
"But it must never get into the newspapers," he cried.
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