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V*
mirror, the rust-stained basin, the scrofulous walls.
"Dad— he'll find out about everything now! And he'll — and Mother, she'll — Oh, Nat, how could you?"
Nat seemed to think Bunny was making a lot of fuss over nothing. "I guess maybe I got too fresh with the dean, or whatever they call that bossy dame. So I beat it and saw New York for a couple of days, and then — well, here I am!"
Bunny stumbled from her mattress, twisting her hands, pacing the floor. "Just when I was getting somewhere — and — and Johnny — " She caught herself, turned wildly on Nat. "Nobody's going to
stop me! Not you, or Dad, or Mother."
"Stop you what?" asked Nat.
"Come on!" said Bunny. "Get up! Get out of that!"
"But, Bunny — "
"Don't you call me that! I'm Joan — see? And you're my cousin — see?"
"Yes, but—"
"Get dressed, will you? I want to lie to Johnny about you and get it over with!"
"Ho!" said Nat, and looked askance at the strange little water-soaked figure that had come down from ermine to overalls. "So there's a Johnny, is there?"
Bunny smiled dreamily. Then she turned into a minor whirlwind. "Get 'em on!" She snatched up a handful of silken underthings, threw them at Nat and hauled her out of the covers.
Johnny wasn't at the parking lot —
maybe he was at the lunch wagon at the railroad station. She peeked in at the lunch counter, saw no one and then turned back down the station platform.
The place was deserted. There was a bundle of newspapers that evidently had been kicked off one of the owl trains from New York. As Bunny walked under the lighted shed, she glanced idly at the bale of newsprint —and stopped dead in her tracks.
It was smeared across the front page of a roped-up paper in the blackest of type — her own name. It whammed her between the eyes: Bunny Stanwood Disappears.
Bunny went limp. She dropped to her knees and tore the top newspaper out of the bundle. In a panic her eyes leaped down the double-leaded column. She (Continued on page 66)