But I won't go home.

I'll wait here to see Fogerty." "Fogerty!" exclaimed the artist, with a start of surprise.

"Do you mean the detective ?" "Yes," said Louise, regretting she had inadvertently mentioned the name.
"But what is there now to detect ?" asked Hetty suspiciously.

"Our troubles seem ended with the burning of the mill and the flitting of Skeelty and his workmen." Louise hardly knew how to reply; but Patsy, who trusted the queer girl artist, said quite frankly: "There remains the mystery of Thursday Smith to fathom, you know." Hetty flushed and an indignant look swept over her face.
"What right has anyone to solve that mystery ?" she asked defiantly.
"Isn't that Thursday Smith's own business ?" "Perhaps," returned Patsy, somewhat amused; "but Smith hasn't been able to discover who he is--or was, rather--and seems really anxious to know." Hetty bent over her desk for a time.

Then she looked up and her thin features were white and drawn with anxiety.
"When you discover who Thursday Smith is," said she, "the Millville Tribune will lose its right bower." "Why ?" "Before his accident, or whatever it was that made him lose his memory, he was an unusual man, a man of exceptional ability.