His heart acted very
strangely, but he had to go through with it.
"C-can I see you a minute in the next car, Miss Beatrice?" he asked,
his voice quavering.
Miss Whitford lifted her eyebrows, but otherwise expressed no surprise.
"Certainly, Johnnie."
"What do you want to see Miss Whitford about, Johnnie?" his spouse
asked. There were times when Kitty mistrusted Johnnie's judgment. She
foresaw that he might occasionally need a firm hand.
"Oh, nothin' much. Tell you about it later, honey." The kidnaper
mopped the perspiration from his forehead. At that moment he wished
profoundly that this brilliant idea of his had never been born.
He led the way down the aisle into the next sleeper and stopped at one
of the staterooms. Shakily he opened the door and stood aside for her
to pass first.
"You want me to go in here?" she asked.
"Yes'm."
Beatrice stepped in. Johnnie followed.
Clay rose from the lounge and said, "Glad to see you, Miss Whitford."
"Did you bring me here to say good-bye, Johnnie?" asked Beatrice.
The Runt's tongue stuck to the root of his mouth, His eyes appealed
dumbly to Clay.
"Better explain to Miss Whitford," said Clay, passing the buck.
"It's for yore good, Miss Beatrice," stammered the villain who had
brought her. "We--we--I--I done brought you here to travel home with
us."
"You--what?"
Before her slender, outraged dignity Johnnie wilted. "Kitty, she--she
can chaperoon you. It's all right, ma'am.
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