"I reckoned to keep it a secret with only
you two," she said half bitterly.
"No matter. We'll find some one to act, or you'll think of
somebody and let us know."
"But I wanted to finish this thing right here," she said
impatiently. She was silent for a moment, with her arched black
brows knitted. Then she said abruptly, "Who's that smart little
chap that let me in? He looks as if he might be trusted."
"That's Paul Hathaway, my secretary. He's sensible, but too young.
Stop! I don't know about that. There's no legal age necessary, and
he's got an awfully old head on him," said the Mayor thoughtfully.
"And I say his youth's in his favor," said Colonel Pendleton,
promptly. "He's been brought up in San Francisco, and he's got no
d--d old-fashioned Eastern notions to get rid of, and will drop
into this as a matter of business, without prying about or
wondering. I'LL serve with him."
"Call him in!" said the woman.
He came. Very luminous of eye, and composed of lip and brow. Yet
with the same suggestion of "making believe" very much, as if to
offset the possible munching of forbidden cakes and apples in his
own room, or the hidden presence of some still in his pocket.
The Mayor explained the case briefly, but with business-like
precision.
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