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She arrived at the gate just as the man came through the opening. He was a dusty-faced man, with a bristling mustache, and great, overhanging brows. He looked very angry, too. "Oh, what is the matter?" asked Janice, as the man pitched the oilcloth bag into the cart, and turned back toward the house again. But he was not regarding at all the girl or her chum who then ran up.
The affair was not a personal one patently, this was a child who played about the station and amused herself by making faces at everybody who passed the telephone-booth still, the authorities ought not to allow it. People did not come to the station to be insulted. Three seconds later the dusty-faced little girl and her moue were sped utterly from William's mind.
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