She tried being proud in a dozen different expressive attitudes for ten
minutes or so: Then she suddenly relaxed and went over to the telephone,
smiling rather ashamedly at herself.
"Hotel Rosario?"
"Yes."
"Can I speak to Mr. Oliver Crowe? He is staying there isn't he?"
A pause full of little jingling sounds.
"Yes, he's staying here but he hasn't come in yet this evening. Do you
wish to leave a message?"
Nancy hesitates.
"N-no." That would be just a little too humble.
"Or the name of the party calling?" He will know, of course. Still, had
she better say? Then she remembers the need of punishing him just a
little. After all--it is hardly fair she should go all the way toward
making up when he hasn't even started.
"No--no name. But tell him somebody called, please."
"Very well."
And Nancy goes back to wonder if the reason Oliver hasn't gone back to the
hotel is that he is returning here in an appropriate suit of sackcloth.
She hopes he _will_ come before mother and father get back.
But even while she is hoping it, the large blue policeman is saying
something about "'Sturbance of the peace" to the desk-sergeant, and Oliver
is going down on the blotter as Donald Richardson.
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