"My husband," she announced, "will be here presently."

"He was here ten minutes ago," said the clerk, and added particulars.

"Oh, that's all right," replied the slightly-puzzled but quite unexcited
lady; "he'll be back." And then, accompanied by bags and suitcases, she
vanished aloft.

"Missed connections, somehow," commented the clerk to the stenographer,
and gave himself to the contemplation of "Past Performances" in the
_Evening Telegram_, and to ordinary routine of a hotel office for an
hour or so, when, to prove the wisdom of the lady's calm, the excited
Mr. John Blake returned.

"There must be some mistake," he began darkly, "I've been to every
hotel--"

"Lady came ten minutes after you left," said the genial clerk. "Front,
show the gentleman to 450." And, presently, John was explaining his
dilemma to Gladys, the pretty wife of his cousin Bob. "She is somewhere
in this hotel," he fumed, "and I'll find her if I have to search it room
by room."

The office was hardly quiet after the appearance and disappearance of
Mr. John Blake, when the clerk and the telephone-girl were again
interrupted by an excited gentleman. His white whiskers framed an
anxious, kindly face, his white waistcoat bound a true and tender heart.

"Has Mr. Blake arrived?" he demanded with some haste.