Part 15 (1/2)

”Now, young lady,” he began, ”we'll talk about--”

”Excuse me,” said Josie hastily. ”I'm going, now; but I'll be back. I want to see you again, Mr. Kasker.”

She ran down the aisle to the door, looked up and down the street and saw the thick-set form of the suspender salesman just disappearing around the corner to the south. Instantly she stepped out. Josie was an expert in the art of shadowing.

CHAPTER XVI MRS. CHARLEWORTH

When Mary Louise reached home that evening she was surprised to find a note from Josie which said:

”I've decided to change my boarding place for a week or so, although I shall miss Aunt Sally's cooking and a lot of other comforts. But this is business. If you meet me in the street, don't recognize me unless I'm quite alone. We've quarrelled, if anyone asks you. Pretty soon we'll make up again and be friends. Of course, you'll realize I'm working on our case, which grows interesting. So keep mum and behave.”

”I wish I knew where she's gone,” was Mary Louise's anxious comment, as she showed the note to Gran'pa Jim.

”Don't worry, my dear,” advised the colonel. ”Josie possesses the rare faculty of being able to take care of herself under all circ.u.mstances.

Had she not been so peculiarly trained by her detective father I would feel it a duty to search for her, but she is not like other girls and wouldn't thank us for interfering, I'm sure.”

”I can't see the necessity of her being so mysterious about it,”

declared the girl. ”Josie ought to know I'm worthy of her confidence.

And she said, just the other day, that we're partners.”

”You must be the silent partner, then,” said her grandfather, smiling at her vexed expression. ”Josie is also worthy of confidence. She may blunder, but if so, she'll blunder cleverly. I advise you to be patient with her.”

”Well, I'll try, Gran'pa. When we see her again she will probably know something important,” said Mary Louise resignedly.

As for little, red-headed Josie O'Gorman, she walked into the office of the Mansion House that afternoon, lugging a battered suit-case borrowed from Aunt Sally, and asked the clerk at the desk for weekly rates for room and board. The clerk spoke to Mr. Boyle, the proprietor, who examined the girl critically.

”Where are you from?” he asked.

”New York,” answered Josie. ”I'm a newspaper woman, but the war cost me my job, because the papers are all obliged to cut down their forces. So I came here to get work.”

”The war affects Dorfield, too, and we've only two papers,” said the man. ”But your business isn't my business, in any event. I suppose you can pay in advance?”

”For a week, anyhow,” she returned; ”perhaps two weeks: If the papers can't use me, I'll try for some other work.”

”Know anybody here?”

”I know Colonel Hathaway, but I'm not on good terms with his granddaughter, Mary Louise. We had a fight over the war. Give me a quiet room, not too high up. This place looks like a fire-trap.”

As she spoke, she signed her name on the register and opened her purse.

Boyle looked over his keyboard.

”Give me 47, if you can,” said Josie carelessly. She had swiftly run her eye over the hotel register. ”Forty-seven is always my lucky number.”

”It's taken,” said the clerk.

”Well, 43 is the next best,” a.s.serted Josie. ”I made forty-three dollars the last week I was in New York. Is 43 taken, also?”

”No,” said Boyle, ”but I can do better by you. Forty-three is a small room and has only one window.”