I
think I might make a suggestion or two that--would help. Will you
come?"
After somewhat too obvious a consideration, Queed consented. Sharlee
thanked him.
"I'll put my address down on the back of that paper, shall I? And I
think I'll put my name, too, for I don't believe you have the faintest
idea what it is."
"Oh, yes. The name is Miss Charlie Weyland. It appears that you were
named after a boy?"
"Oh, it's only a silly nickname. Here's your little directory back. I'll
be very glad to see you--at half-past eight, shall we say? But, Mr.
Queed--don't come unless you feel sure that I really want to help. For
I'm afraid I'll have to say a good deal that will make you very mad."
He bowed and walked away. Sharlee went to the telephone and called
Bartlett's, the florist. She told Mr. Bartlett that a young man would
come in there in a few minutes--full description of the young
man--asking for seventy-five cents' worth of red roses; Mr. Bartlett
would please give him two dozen roses, and charge the difference to her,
Miss Weyland; the entire transaction to be kept discreetly quiet.
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