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Thorlakson came to the door and let her in. The kind-hearted woman's appearance in a flaming red canton-flannel nightgown, her hair comically "done up" for the night, was grotesque. But Cristy did not laugh.
Yes, yes, Cristy, I'm noticing him; he's done with his writings. Suppose I offer to put them away for him? You can see in his face he finds the tale of them correct. He's coming this way. What's he going to do next?" He was going to establish a claim on my gratitude, by relieving me of Giles Toller. "I have something to say to Mr. Roylake," he announced, with a haughty look at his landlord. "Mind!
"You see there's something convenient, my dear, in the circumstance of that nice-looking gentleman over there being deaf. We can talk about him before his face, just as comfortably as if it was behind his back. Isn't that so, Mr. Gerard? Don't you see it yourself, Cristy?
McAllister busied himself, clearing a space on the table for the tray she was carrying, and from beneath his shaggy brows the railroad president's shrewd eyes carried a glint of amusement at the evident relief with which the editor welcomed the interruption. A moment more and McAllister might have committed himself to a rash statement. "And how goes the battle, Cristy?
"Cristy Lawson is a remarkably clever young woman," he said, gazing thoughtfully at a little electric light in the roof of the car. "For once I can agree with you entirely," nodded McAllister, flashing a quick glance at the other's upturned face. "I don't blame her for getting sick and tired of writing your pink-tea items. Why don't you give her a chance at bigger game?"
Svenson was indeed proving himself "gude smart mans," and that was, in very truth, "no yoke." Svenson was making good his promise "tew rase hell." "Oh boy! Oh boy!" McCorquodale kept muttering to himself, pausing an instant in amazed admiration. One glance assured Kendrick that the girl was nowhere in sight. Evidently Cristy was carrying out instructions to the letter. Stiles! Where was Stiles?
There was no length to which his loyalty to them would not carry him. Kendrick nodded, recalling the boy's story as he had heard it from her father. "I had no hesitation in taking Jimmy into my confidence from the first," said Cristy, "and it has been a big help to have someone watching Nickleby from the inside.
I left a note for him, telling him where we were going, and just read this, sent down from the operator at Indian Creek. What do you make of it?" She read it aloud, frowning in perplexity: Philip Kendrick, Toronto, July 27. at Thorlakson Siding, via Indian Creek. Is Cristy safe? Wire immediately you receive this. McAllister anxious.
Would you consider it rude if I asked who the young lady is?" Nat Lawson slowly deposited the tray and chuckled to himself. Unconsciously he raised his head proudly. "That is my daughter, sir, my daughter, Cristy. I'm sorry that just now she is not at home." Phil Kendrick sipped his drink with what he flattered himself was a fine show of unconcern. He even smacked his lips and complimented Mr.
She searched quickly for his expression, but he had turned and was gazing far up the track, his tanned face alight with boyish enthusiasm. Time never passed so swiftly for Phil Kendrick as it did during the next two days. In the big roomy birch-bark canoe that Svenson had built he went fishing and exploring to his heart's content with Miss Cristy Lawson.
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