She was hunting desert pickles and trying to remember whether Indian rhubarb ever grew so far south.

She was glad when the dismissal hour came that afternoon.

With eager feet she went straight to the Consolidated Bank and there she asked again to be admitted to the office of the president.
Mr.Worthington rose as she came in.
"Am I wrong in my dates ?" he inquired.

"I was not expecting you until tomorrow." "No, you're quite right," said Linda.

"At this hour tomorrow.