She
was playing checkers with Mr. Littell, whose injured foot still kept
him a prisoner most of the time, and she had played badly all the
evening, she knew. Truth to tell, she was thinking about her uncle
and wondering over and over why she did not hear from him.
After the rubber was played and the other girls who had been around
the piano, singing, had gone out to get something to eat, for the
maids had the evening off, Betty spoke to her host.
"I suppose you think I'm foolish," she ventured; "but I am really
worried about Uncle Dick now. He has never answered the telegram and
the two letters I've written. His Philadelphia lawyer writes that he
is waiting to hear from him. He seems to have dropped out of the
world. Do you think he may be sick in some hospital and not able to
communicate with us?"
"That's a possibility," admitted Mr. Littell soberly. "But I tell
you honestly, Betty, and not simply to relieve your mind, that I
consider it a very remote one. Business men, especially men who
travel a great deal, as you tell me your uncle does, seldom are
without somewhere on their person, their names and addresses, and
directions about what is to be done in case of sickness or accident.
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