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By a series of neutral subterfuges and tactful evasions Claire Robson won her point she went to the Condor musicale at Ned Stillman's apartments alone, and on that same night her mother wended a rather grudging way to the Second Presbyterian Church reception.
I am fairly sure that visitors are allowed on Sunday, but if I am mistaken we can at least go to the office and inquire for our stranger." The three girls met in front of Stillman's at exactly three o'clock the following afternoon, and set out for the hospital. "Visitors are allowed on Sunday from three until five," remarked Grace as they strolled down Main Street.
As it was, she was not above a certain forewarning sense that made her say with an air of inconsequence as Claire finished her recital: "Mrs. Towne tells me that there is a chance that Mr. Stillman's wife may get well. She's in a private sanitarium, at Livermore, you know." She stopped to draw up the bedclothes higher.
Flint's cold any good," Mrs. Richards said, drawlingly. "Mr. Flint's cold?... I don't quite see what that has to do with it." "Oh, you said 'we' I somehow got the impression...." "No, Mrs. Richards, you've misunderstood me again." Claire threw a cool, even glance at her antagonist. "I made the trip from Yolanda to Sausalito in Mr. Stillman's car." "Oh!" said Mrs.
Stillman's hidden gratitude, his private beneficences, did not serve her purpose, but the spectacle of him in the rôle of her debtor was a sight that went a long way to establishing a social credit impoverished by no end of false ventures. Her command for him to take her to luncheon and it had been a command, however suavely she had managed to veil it bore also the stamp of urgency.
"We don't question your loyalty, Mr. Glenister, but we didn't ask you to this meeting because we know your attitude perhaps I'd better say sentiment regarding Judge Stillman's niece er family. It has come to us from various sources that you have been affected to the prejudice of your own and your partner's interest. Now, there isn't going to be any sentiment in the affairs of the Vigilantes.
"Oh, don't think that I'll give the snap away!" said the other; "but I warn you again not to enter Stillman's house." He followed out into the night to find that Dextry had disappeared, evidently wishing to avoid argument.
They fled without stopping forty miles to Dixon's Ferry. They reported that they had been attacked by fifteen hundred savages. They left all their camp stuff. Fourteen soldiers had been killed but no Indians, except those sent by Black-hawk to treat for peace. "Stillman's Run," the battle was called. Black-hawk sat down to smoke a pipe to the Great Spirit, and give thanks.
She recalled the scene again and again. She remembered her contemptuous silence before Stillman's obvious suavities, the high, assured laugh which his companion, Mrs. Condor, threw out to meet his quiet sallies, the ruffling satisfaction of her mother, chattering on irrelevantly, but with the undisguised purpose of creating a proper impression.
"Who will go to the hospital with me to-morrow!" asked Grace when they were seated around a table at Stillman's. "Let me see. To-morrow is Sunday," said Jessica. "I'm afraid I can't go. Papa is going to take Mabel and me for a drive." "I'll go with, you," volunteered Nora. "And I," said Anne. "Good girls," commended Grace. "Meet me here at three o'clock.
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