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That's why I want to live alone and quiet for a while in the station-agent's shack." "Then you don't consider Mr. Banneker as belonging to the tribe of men?" "He's an official. I could always see his uniform, at need." She fell into thought. "It's a curious thing," she mused. Miss Van Arsdale said nothing.
She straightened out a war-bonnet on the wall. She was flicking off a spot of dust in the gilt chair that Jack had got as a wedding present for Echo on the day of the station-agent's murder, and, being reminded of the tragedy, she asked: "That posse didn't catch the parties that killed Terrill, did they?" "Not that I hear on.
After that she merely had to sit down at a table in the station-agent's room and write up the whole story for her paper. The operator and the Recorder would do the rest. She would send a flash wire to notify Brennon, the night editor, what to expect and she would send a special message to McAllister that would send him jumping for the Chief of Police. The Recorder was a morning paper.
A description of the desert in spate, thumb-nail sketches from a station-agent's window, queer little flavorous stories of crime and adventure and petty intrigue in the town; all done with a deftness and brevity that was saved from being too abrupt only by broad touches of color and light. And he had had a letter. He told Miss Van Arsdale of it.
From what he tells me there was some sort of love-affair there. A girl who materialized from nowhere and spent two weeks, mostly with the romantic station-agent. Might have been a princess in exile, by my informant, who saw her twice. More likely some cheap little skate of a movie actress on a bust." "A station-agent's taste in women friends " began Marrineal, and forbore unnecessarily to finish.
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