Before he had gone ten steps in the
direction of Gantry's office, some one in the throng of debarking
Overland travellers called his name. Turning quickly, he found himself
face to face with a white-haired little gentleman who had plucked
impatiently at his sleeve.
"Why, bless my soul! Of all the lucky miracles!" gasped the young man
who, but an instant earlier, had been deaf and blind to all external
things. And then: "Where is Patricia?"
"She's here, somewhere," snapped the little gentleman irascibly. "I've
lost her in this confounded mob. Find her for me. I've got my
reading-glasses on, and I can't see anything. Why don't they have this
barn of a place lighted up?"
"Stand still right where you are," Blount directed, and a moment later
he had found Patricia guarding a pair of suit-cases which were too heavy
for her to carry.
"You poor lost child!" was his burbled greeting.
"You don't mean to tell me that _this_ is the West to which you said
you were coming?"
"I'm not lost; I'm here. It's father who is lost," she laughed. Then she
answered his question; "Yes, this is the West I meant, and if you
haven't been telling the truth about it--"
Blount had snatched up the two hand-bags and had effected a reunion of
the scattered pair. The little gentleman, standing immovable, as he had
been told to do, was blinking impatiently through his reading-glasses at
the surging throng.
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