“Whew!” he exclaimed, after carefully closing the door behind him.  “I’ve been doing a little thinking my self, young lady, since I left you here.  I’ve been thinking that I had better take a trip to Canada or China or somewhere and start in a hurry, too.  When your uncles find out that I told you this thing they have succeeded in keeping from you all this time—­well, it will be high time for me to be somewhere else.”  He laughed and then added gravely:  “But I still think I was right in telling you.  Under the circumstances it seems to me that you should know.”

“Of course I should.  If you had not told me I should have found it out, now that my suspicions were aroused.  Thank you, Judge Baxter.  Now I must go.”

“Go?  Go where?”

“Home—­to South Harniss.”

“Nonsense!  You’re not going to South Harniss yet awhile.  You’re going to have dinner with my wife and me.”

“Thank you.  I can’t.  I must go at once.  By the next train.”

“There isn’t any train until nearly four o’clock.”  Then, noticing her look of disappointment, he went on to say:  “But that shan’t make any difference.  I’ll send you over in my nephew’s automobile.  I’m not sufficiently up-to-date to own one of the cussed—­excuse me things, but he does and I borrow it occasionally.  I don’t drive it; good heavens, no!  But his man shall drive you over and I’ll guarantee you beat the train.  If you don’t, it won’t be because you go too slow.  Now, of course, you’ll stay to dinner.”

But Mary shook her head.  “You’re very kind, Judge,” she said, “and I thank you very much, but—­”

“Well, but what?”

“But I—­I can’t.  I—­I—­Oh, don’t you see?  I couldn’t eat, or even try to—­now.  I want to get home—­to them.”

“And so you shall, my dear.  And in double-quick time, too.  Here, Jesse,” opening the door to the outer office and addressing the clerk, “you step over and tell Samuel that I want to borrow his car and Jim for two hours.  Tell him I want them now.  And if his car is busy go to Cahoon’s garage and hire one with a driver.  Hurry!”

“And now, Mary,” turning to her, “can you tell me any more about your plans, provided you have had time to make any?  If this story about your uncles’ business troubles is true, what do you intend doing?  Or don’t you know?”

Mary replied that her plans were very indefinite, as yet.

“I have some ideas,” she said; “some that I had thought I might use after I had finished school and come back to the store.  They may not be worth much; they were schemes for building up the business there and adding some other sorts of business to it.  The first thing I shall do is to see how bad the situation really is.”

“I hope it isn’t bad.  Poor Zoeth certainly has had trouble enough in his life.”

There was a significance in his tone which Mary plainly did not understand.

“What trouble do you mean?” she asked.