CRIMSON MOUNTAIN by Grace Livingston Hill

much as it is possible. I haven’t so many real friends that I can let a new one go unnecessarily soon. Especially as you are a soldier! But it doesn’t matter in the least when I go back. My packing can be quickly done, and I’ll be ready to take you back to Carrollton whenever you say. Yes,
certainly”—as
he began to protest—“this is a round trip, and you can’t get out of it.
I
have to get back to Carrollton as much as you do, and I’d much rather go
with
you than go alone.”
    “Oh, but surely you have friends you might want to take,” said Pilgrim, “and I couldn’t let you go sooner than you need to just for me.”
    “I have no other friends who have saved my life,” laughed Laurel. “You have the first claim. And as for getting back, I suppose the sooner the better if I have to establish a residence there before I begin to teach. Although that is quite immaterial to me. And now, where are you going to stay tonight?”
    “Oh, I have an old college buddy I’ll be staying with tonight if I can locate him. You know I went to college in this city for a couple of years, so I’m not without a little knowledge of the town, as well as a few friends. But in the morning, I’ll get in touch with you and tell you my plans if you insist on being so kind as to want my company back. Of course I’ll enjoy it immensely if it doesn’t change your plans any. If I phone you by eleven o’clock, would that be too late for your plans?”
    “Oh no. That will be quite all right for me. But what about Mr. Banfield? He wanted your answer by ten. I’ll be ready to leave early if you say. If you call me even at eight o’clock, you’ll find me ready to start at a moment’s notice.”
    He smiled. “You’re a good sport!” he said. “I wish I could have known you long ago.”
    “Here, too!” said Laurel. “And now turn down Arden Road, three blocks, then turn right—”
    They crept along from block to block, talking almost too eagerly to turn the right corners, and at last reached the cousins’ house where Laurel was staying.
    “Now,” she said, her hand on the door beside her, “you take the car and go where you have to go, and in the morning I’ll be seeing you—or afternoon, or whenever. I’ll be ready to go with you when you and the car return.”
    “Oh no,” said Pilgrim. “Nothing doing. I’m putting your car in your garage and taking the trolley over on the next block to my hideout in town. You know I know my way about here, and I don’t intend to borrow any car. Where is your garage? Shall we drive in and then I’ll give you the keys?”
    They drove to the garage, Laurel insisting on going with him, and walked back together up the drive to the front door.
    “If such a thing should happen as that I find I have to take an early train in the morning,” he said as he handed her her keys, “would it be possible to telephone you tonight?”
    “Of course,” she said, “but you’re not taking any earlier
train
than I can take you in my car, so please be good. I’ll be ready
anytime.”
    Then, with a warm handclasp, they parted. Pilgrim, with a lingering look back at the girl in the doorway, lifted his hat and walked quickly out into the moonlight, turning the next corner out of sight. Laurel stood for some minutes looking toward the distance where he had vanished, gave a deep sigh, then turned and hurried up to her room.
    Like a small shadow, she slipped past the wide doorway that led into the living room where an absorbing game of bridge was being played, and up to her own room. She was presently wildly busy taking down garments from the closet hooks and folding them for packing. She meant to get her belongings into shape before morning if it took all night.
    Swiftly she worked, folding garments precisely in ordered piles on her bed and on the chairs, arranging lingerie in other neat piles in the bureau drawers, and then she stole out into the hall to the trunk room where luggage was kept,