At this point came a knock at her door and her father entered. One look
at his face--red, perspiring and decidedly unhappy--served to cheer his
daughter.
"Been down to the steamship offices," he panted, mopping his bald head.
"They're open to-day, just like it was a week day--but they might as
well be closed. There's nothing doing. Every boat's booked up to the
rails; we can't get out of here for two weeks--maybe more."
"I'm sorry," said his daughter.
"No, you ain't! You're delighted! You think it's romantic to get caught
like this. Wish I had the enthusiasm of youth." He fanned himself with a
newspaper. "Lucky I went over to the express office yesterday and loaded
up on gold. I reckon when the blow falls it'll be tolerable hard to cash
checks in this man's town."
"That was a good idea."
"Ready for breakfast?" he inquired.
"Quite ready," she smiled.
They went below, she humming a song from a revue, while he glared at
her. She was very glad they were to be in London a little longer. She
felt she could not go, with that mystery still unsolved.