noticed--haven't you, T. A.?--that I've got an expressive
countenance."

Buck leaned forward, too. His smile was almost gone.

"I've noticed a lot of things, Emma McChesney. And if you
persist in deviling me for one more minute, I'm going to mention
a few."

Emma McChesney surveyed her cleared desk, locked the top drawer
with a snap, and stood up.

"If you do I'll miss my boat. Just time to make Brooklyn.
Suppose you write 'em."

That Ed Meyers might know nothing of her sudden plans, she had
kept the trip secret. Besides Buck and the office staff, her son
Jock was the only one who knew. But she found her cabin stocked
like a prima donna's on a farewell tour. There were boxes of
flowers, a package of books, baskets of fruit, piles of
magazines, even a neat little sheaf of telegrams, one from the
faithful bookkeeper, one from the workroom foreman, two from
salesmen long in the firm's employ, two from Jock in Chicago.
She read them, her face glowing. He and Buck had vied with each
other in supplying her with luxuries that would make pleasanter
the twenty-three days of her voyage.

She looked about the snug cabin, her eyes suddenly misty. Buck
poked his head in at the door.