The Grael in a Back Yard in Yakima

On the station platform, Claire and Milt were under the surveillance of
Mr. Boltwood, who was extremely irritable as every two minutes the train
was reported to be two minutes later. They tramped up and down, speaking
in lowered voices, very meek but in their joint naughtiness very
intimate.

"That was a nice place to end a transcontinental drive--in the back yard
of Mr. Johnny Kloh, with an unrestricted view of tin cans!" lamented
Claire.

"Still, your drive didn't end at Kloh's; it ended way up in the
mountains."

Mr. Boltwood bumbled down on them: "Another minute late! Like to know
what the matter is!"

"Yes, father!"

When Mr. Boltwood's impatiently waiting back was turned, Claire gripped
Milt's hand, and whispered to him, "You see, I'm captured! I thought I
was father's lord and chauffeur, but he sniffs the smoke of the ticker.
In his mind, he's already back in the office, running things. He'll
probably turn me over to Jeff, for disciplining! You won't let them
change me back into a pink-face, will you? Come to tea, at the Gilsons',
just as soon as you reach Seattle."

"Tea---- Now we're so near your Gilsons, I begin to get scared. Wouldn't
know what to do. Gee, I've heard you have to balance a tea-cup and a
sandwich and a hunk o' cake and a lot of conversation all at once! I'd
spill the tea, and drop crumbs, and probably have the butler set on me."

"You will not! And if you did--can't you see?--it wouldn't matter! It
just wouldn't matter!"