Substitute Guest by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

all ready for Harold Warner, and her brother saw as he looked that the fire he had laid there was lit and the room was bright and warm. He flung his sister an inscrutable look and then gave her a blinding smile of appreciation that warmed her heart all during the hours that followed.
    “Get those wet socks off, Alan,” said Lance, coming in with a rough Turkish towel, “and rub those ankles till they burn. It won’t do to start off on this expedition with cold feet. There. I guess you can wear those things. I’m about your size. Anyway, we aren’t being choosy about our outfits just now. Haste is the main thing. I’ll beat you to it!” And Lance with a grin strode up to his own room to array himself with swift fingers.
    Then the telephone rang in the little hallway just beside Alan’s door, and he could not help hearing most of what was said. He was dressing in strange woolly garments as swiftly as his cold shaking fingers could manipulate them, but he could not help listening eagerly with a wild hope that perhaps the garage man had somehow come to his rescue, impossible as that seemed.
    The voice at the other end of the wire was one of those high-keyed, raucous voices, which sometimes on the telephone broadcast themselves more widely than they intend. Every syllable uttered could be clearly heard in the guest room by the guest who was working so frantically to array himself for his daring expedition.
    “That you, Darling?” the voice said.
    “What? What did you say?”
    “I shaid ‘Darling!’ Isn’t that your name, lovely one? Did you shay Daryl meant Darling? Well, there you are!”
    “Harold! What in the world do you mean, talking like that? Stop kidding me, and tell me where you are? I’ve been so anxious about you!”
    “Angshus about me, Darling? That’s awfully sweet of you! But why angshus?”
    There was a puzzled pause and then Daryl’s troubled voice. “How strangely you talk, Harold. What’s the matter with you? Where are you? When will you get here?”
    “Me? I’m at Bayport. Called up to say hello.”
    “At Bayport? What are you doing at Bayport? Oh, have you had an accident, Harold!”
    “Acshident? No, I haven’t had acshident! I’m at a housh party, Darling, at Bayport, my boss’s summer home. My boss’s daughter brought me down in her limousine, and she wantsh you to come, too. She said I might ashk you. She shuggestsh you take a taxi over, econ you can’t get a taxi justsh shay the word and we’ll drive over fer you. Joy ride. Shee?”
    “Harold!” Daryl’s distressed voice was raised sharply. She had forgotten the nearness of the stranger. “What
is
the matter, Harold? Aren’t you coming to spend Christmas here?”
    “No, Darling. No, I can’t! Had a econd engagement. No, it washn’t econd, it was premature. No, that isn’t the right word either. But you know what I mean. The boss’s daughter asht me, an’ buishnessh always comesh firsht, you know.”
    “But Harold, you promised. You said it was our Christmas. Our first Christmas together!”
    “Did I shay that? Well, mebbe I did….” The voice trailed off uncertainly and then began again. “Yesh, maybe I did shay that but I didn’t mean it. I meant econd Chrishmus, ur mebbe it wash third…” The voice trailed off again.
    “Harold!” Daryl’s voice was full of tears and horror. “You’ve been drinking!”
    “What, Darling? Yesh, jusht a dear little bit of a drink! Couldn’t help it, you know. Boss offered it. Boss’s daughter shaid I must. Buishness, you know. Wouldn’t wantta loosh my job. You wouldn’t want me to loosh my job. But, Darling, ef you’ll jusht take a taxi and come over I’ll promish to say no.” The uncertain voice broke into song. “Have courage-my-boyto—shay—noo!”
    Daryl suddenly hung up the receiver and when Alan came out of the spare room a moment later she was still standing there, her face white as death, her eyes wide with sorrow. His heart almost stood still with