"Right away," I acknowledged. For I had thrown back to Bud the high-sign that I was wise to his tip.
The man at my side turned and studied me, apparently for the first time.
"Im sorry, you know," he began. "But I rather think it would make it safer if you'd dine with me here to-night."
"I haven't been oppressed by any sense of impending danger," I told him, with a forced laugh.
"Then perhaps it escaped your attention that the locker-girl has just pointed you out to the hotel detective?"
"That is interesting," I said, but I wasn't one half as comfortable as I pretended to be.
"It is so interesting that I think it will be advisable for us to return to the hotel by way of the board-walk," he explained, as he rose to his feet. "And in case there is any necessity for using it, remember, my name is Wendy Washburn."
He said it as though he nursed the comfortable belief that there was considerable weight in that rather silly-sounding name.
"And mine is Baddie Pretlow," I told him, as I rose to my feet.
"Baddie," he repeated, with a glint of humor.
