Cobmore was at home, and, after a little persuasion, was induced to let Archie borrow a horse and buggy to take him in to town.
He seemed to be a little curious as to the reason for the trip, but the Yale man was not communicative, so the farmer was obliged to content himself with sly twitting of Joblots, who appeared to be absolutely oblivious to his banter.
It was a little after eight when they left Cobmore’s. At half-past nine McCormick drove recklessly through the long village street, and, pulling up with a jerk in front of the small station building, leaped out and ran inside, leaving Joblots staring in dismay at the reins which had been tossed into his lap, as if he hadn’t the least idea what he was to do with them.
Presently he laid them cautiously on the seat and slipped quietly out of the buggy. Luckily one of the natives lounging by the door, took it upon himself to tie the horse to a hitching post, or there is no telling how McCormick would have managed to return the rig intact.
Percy Joblots, safe from the perilous position alone in the buggy, drew a quick breath and hastily followed Archie into the building. He found him at the window in the act of handing a telegraph message to the station agent, but the latter had read it aloud to verify it so quickly that it was all over before the dapper little fellow could sidle quietly within hearing distance.
“Will you please send it off at once?” McCormick asked, handing the man a dollar bill. “Just keep the change for your trouble.”
The fellow’s eyes brightened instantly, and he lost much of his languid, indifferent manner.
“Yes, sir,” he returned promptly. “If I can get an open wire, I’ll push it right along.”
He dropped down in his chair and the sharp click-click of the instrument sounded through the office.
“It’s all right,” the man said, as he looked up. “She’s gone.”