pages of the book she was holding upside down, then with disgust at
her stupidity she righted it and ran her finger down the long line of
V's. Finding at last the name she wanted, she called the number, then
closed her eyes and prayed fervently, feverishly, and half-aloud the
words came jerkily:

"O God, please let him be home, and let him get down here quick before
Miss Frances goes out. She and Mother McNeil are going somewhere and
won't be back until eleven, and that would be too late for him to
come, and--Hello!" The receiver was jammed closer to her ear. "Is
that Mr. Van Landing's house? Is he home? He--he--isn't home!" The
words came in a little wail. "Oh, he must be home! Are you
sure--_sure_? Where can I get him? Where is he? You don't know--hasn't
been at the office all day and hasn't telephoned? He's looking--I mean
I guess he's, trying to find somebody. Who is this talking? It's--it's
a friend of his, and tell him the minute he comes in to call up Pelham
4293 and ask for Miss Frances Barbour, who wants to talk to him. And
listen. Tell him if she's out to come to 14 Custer Street, to Mother
McNeil's, and wait until she gets home. Write it down. Got it? Yes,
that's it. Welcome. Good-by."

The receiver was hung upon its hook, and for a moment Carmencita
stared at the wall; then her face sobered. The strain and tension of
the day gave way, and the high hopes of the night before went out as
at the snuffing of a candle. Presently she nodded into space.

"I stamped my foot at Miss Frances. _Stamped my foot_! And I got mad,
and was impertinent, and talked like a gutter girl to a sure-enough
lady. Talked like--"