"Oh, for heavens sake, pull yourself together, Hattie May," I said with some severity. I knew by experience that the best way to treat Hattie May when she began to get hysterical was to scold. If you tried sympathy and kind words, she just got worse.
"Yes," chimed in Eve, "there's simply no sense in your going on like this. Nothing has happened to Hamish. I'd be willing to bet my best embroidered slip on it. The thing for you to do is to come along with us right now to Old Beecham to call on a friend of Aunt Cal's. And by the time you get back, you'll very likely find Hamish eating his dinner at the Inn--see if you don't." Hattie May wiped her eyes on her dress skirt. "I c-can't go c-calling in this dress," she whimpered. "The s-seams all show! I'd be the laughingstock of Millport."
"Oh, nobody's going to notice it," I said. "All you have to do is to act as if it was something new from Fifth Avenue! Come on, we'll miss the bus if we don't hurry."
She got up uncertainly. "You don't think we ought to go to the Police Station," she faltered, "and report Hamish's disappearance?"
"I don't believe there is any," I said. "Anyway there'll be time enough to find out if Hamish isn't back by dinner time."
"I feel all in," said Hattie May as we hurried her down the street. "It's the shock, I suppose. You can't think how I felt when I opened Hamish's door and saw his bed all smooth and empty. It was just like a murder story. You know, when the valet goes to call his master and finds----"
"Oh, cut it, Hattie May," Eve ordered. "There's the bus--we'd better run!"
Fortunately for us the bus was late in leaving, owing to the fact that one of the passengers was having an argument with the butcher across the street. We continued to cheer Hattie May during the short ride to The Corners. We decided that if Hamish wasn't back when we returned, we would get hold of Michael. He would know what to do and that would be better than going to the police, because we did not want publicity.
"Perhaps you're right," Hattie May agreed tearfully. "I'd hate to have anything get into the papers, mother'd be sure to hear of it."
"Oh, it won't come to that," I returned with considerable more confidence than I felt. For I realized as his sister had said that with a boy like Hamish you never could tell what he might do. And I could well imagine that Mr. Harry Bangs was not one to allow a boy of fifteen with big ears and a nose for other people's business to interfere with his plans.