Nedra | Page 9

I'd like
to hunt him up some time!" Hugh was searching in his pockets as if for
a pencil and memorandum-book and waiting for his old chum to give
him his name.
"Well, of all the--" muttered Woods, looking into the other's face
penetratingly. "I never heard of anything like it. My name is McLane
Woods, and the man who looks like you is Hugh Ridgeway of Chicago.
I--I'll be hanged if it isn't too strange to be true."
"Very strange, indeed," smiled Hugh, striving to maintain the
expression he had assumed at the beginning--a very difficult task.
"But this isn't all. At Newburg, I boarded the train, and happening to go
through, I saw some one that I could have sworn was a Miss Vernon,
whom I met when visiting Ridgeway in Chicago. I started to speak to
her; but she gave me such a frigid stare that I sailed by, convinced that I
was mistaken. Two such likenesses in one day beats my time. Doesn't
seem possible, by George! it doesn't," exclaimed the puzzled New
Yorker, his eyes glued to the countenance of the man before him, who,
by the way, had almost betrayed himself at the mention of Miss
Vernon's name. A thrill of admiration ran through him when Woods
announced his reception by the clever girl who was running away with
him.
"I'll do my best to meet this Mr. Ridgeway. I am frequently in
Chicago," said he. "Glad to have met you, Mr. Woods, anyhow. If you
are ever in Baltimore, hunt me up. I am in the E--- Building."
"With pleasure, doctor; how long will you be in New York?"
"I am going away to-morrow."
"Won't you come with me to my club?" began Woods, but Hugh

interrupted by beckoning to the omnipresent porter.
"Thanks! Much obliged! Like to, you know, but have an appointment!"
And, shaking his hand, "Good-by!"
"Good-by!" gasped Woods reluctantly, as if desiring one word more.
But Hugh, with a grin on his face that awakened renewed expectations
on the part of the porter, was making, stiff and straight, for the
baggage-room. Once, looking back over his shoulder, he saw that
Woods was standing stock still; and again, with another smile, he
watched his mystified friend slowly depart.
"Now, then, my man, tell me quickly--you gave her the note? What did
she do? Where did she go? Out with it--why don't you speak?"
"All right, sir. Everything's all right. The lady has gone to the hotel,"
replied the man as soon as Hugh gave him a chance to answer.
"Good. Find me another cab, quick. And here," handing him a dollar.
Meanwhile, Grace Vernon, quite sanguine of soon being with Hugh,
was approaching the lower part of the city, reasoning, quite logically,
that a downtown hotel was selected on account of the probable absence
of the ultra-fashionable set. There, their secret would be safe,--and also
they would be nearer the steamer.
Arriving at her destination, Grace dismissed the disappointed cabman,
and entered the ladies' waiting-room, where she rang for the clerk.
"Is there a Mr. Ridge staying here?" she asked of him with an assurance
that, she flattered herself, was admirably assumed.
"No such person with us, madam. Were you expecting him?"
"Why, yes," she replied, a little confused. "He should be here any
minute."
And to his inquiry as to whether she would require anything in the
meantime, there came a reply in the negative and he departed.

With a sigh of relief at being alone, she crossed over to a desk and
busied herself in writing a long letter. This accomplished, she arose,
moved over to the window and looked out. The waiting-room faced the
main artery of the city, and below her was the endless stream of
humanity. Endeavoring to check a slight feeling of uneasiness that was
fast coming over her at Hugh's unexpected non-appearance, she tried to
concentrate her thoughts on the panorama of the streets. A half hour
passed. Then, in spite of herself, nervousness assailed her. What could
be keeping him? Had he met with an accident? Or, could she have
made a mistake in the name under which he was to register--could he
be waiting for her all the time? Back and forth, to and fro the girl paced.
Thoroughly alarmed and in spite of a sense of mortification at such an
undertaking, she again interviewed the clerk.
"Will it be convenient for me to see the register?" she inquired, forced
to conceal her embarrassment.
The clerk obligingly brought the book and eagerly she scanned the list.
Unfortunately, for her, there was no mistake. Nothing like Ridgeway,
Ridge or Hugh's handwriting greeted her anxious eyes.
A silence that seemed an inconceivably long one to the almost
overwrought girl was broken by the clerk asking