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Let's see where were we? Cheyenne Crossing at 2 a.m., water at Riddle Creek, coal at Brockton " The schedule was completed when Frisbie came back to say that the 1016, with the superintendent's car attached, was waiting on track Six.
Her meeting with Willard Brockton was, from her point of view, the best possible thing that could have happened. Brockton was a New York stock broker, and like many men of his tastes and means, was a good deal of a sensualist. Of morals he frankly confessed he had none, yet he was an honest sensualist for he played the game fair. He never forgot that he was a gentleman.
When she had disappeared, Brockton held out a handsomely engraved gold cigar case. "Have a cigar?" he said cordially, as if to make things as amicable as possible. "No I'll smoke my own," replied Madison coldly. The men sat down and there was a short silence, during which they lit and puffed at their cigars.
Her mind became obsessed with this idea, and a savage, unreasoning hate for him and all his kind sprang up in her heart. Meantime, things pursued the even tenor of their way, at least outwardly. Brockton was careless, indifferent, good natured as usual. Laura was seemingly as gay and carefree as ever.
I expect to see her here to-night." "So she's still stuck on Willard Brockton, eh?" With a light laugh, she replied quickly: "Laura's not the kind of girl to be 'stuck' on anybody at least I hope she isn't. She used to be inclined to get sentimental at times she thought she was in love and all that sort of thing. I soon knocked that nonsense out of her head. 'Laura' I said 'you've no time to fool.
It flattered him when they entered a theatre or restaurant, Laura wearing her $200 picture hat, to hear people whisper: "That's Brockton's girl. Isn't she stunning?" She drank more champagne than was good for her, and when this happened, Brockton himself would chide her. But she only laughed at him, and, disregarding his rebuke, turned to the waiter and imperiously ordered another bottle.
They would never be able to make that train. She wondered what had detained him. Suddenly, a cold chill ran through her. Suppose he had met some one downtown who had told him about her and Brockton. Then he would never come back again, or, if he did, it would be only to wreak his vengeance. In spite of herself she trembled at the mere idea.
"But supposing," he argued, "they see you first, will they shoot?" The scout waved his hand carelessly. "Of course," he cried. "Then," said the baker, "my horse will run away!" "What of it?" demanded the scout. "Are Middleboro, South Middleboro, Rock, Brockton, and Boston to fall? Are they to be captured because you're afraid of your own horse? They won't shoot REAL bullets!
Don't get sore about it." "I'm not." She still held John's telegram crumpled in one hand. Brockton put down his paper, and regarded her curiously. She saw the expression on his face, and, reading its meaning, averted her head in order not to meet his eye. "What are you looking at me that way for?" she demanded hotly. "I wasn't conscious that I was looking at you in any particular way. Why?"
They found Miss Lou with her uncle, aunt, and Major Brockton already at the table. The major at once resumed his condolences. "I am very sorry indeed," he said, "that you ladies are compelled to leave your home." "Do you think it wisest and best that we should?" asked Mrs. Whately quickly, hoping that her niece would feel the force of the older officer's decision. "Yes, madam, I do.
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