As the Honorable Mr. Burrow came down the stairs of the telephone exchange the shriek of a train whistle smote discordantly on his ears. The motor proved balky and required a singular amount of cranking. The cranking required a superlative amount of profanity. Altogether the series of petty annoyances spelled delay. The station was quite a distance away and Mr. Burrow proceeded to desecrate the speed-limit, rehearsing as he went, “On your way, young woman! He didn’t come!”
And Miss Asheton, alighting on the station platform, was startled to find it empty. She had expected it to be filled with the welcoming presence of Mr. Copewell.
Her alarm was at once dissipated, however, by the glare of acetylene headlights whirling around the curve of the road some distance away.
The mad speed of the approaching car indicated that it was her own private reception-committee. She set down her suit-case and waited.
“Captain” McDonald also saw the automobile headlights. He knew that automobiles were not indigenous to Jaffa Junction. This one could mean only that Miss Asheton was being properly and enthusiastically met.
A moment later the best man alighted at the station and looked regretfully after the train. He had been too late. Mr. Burrow had not considered the possible effect on Miss Asheton of his contemplated bluntness. It had not mattered. Mr. Burrow had the military mind. The military mind can not pause to consider the feelings of the enemy. Decimation is painful to an army but desirable to the attacking general. The military mind sees and pursues one object. Mr. Burrow’s one object was to rid himself of a superfluous young female. It was the same thing that makes some warriors slay prisoners rather than be burdened with them on the march.
For an appreciable space of time the Hon. Alexander Hamilton Burrow eyed Miss Asheton with icy politeness. She looked back at him inquiringly. There was nothing ardent in the tableau.
“I take it you are the bride-elect?” hazarded the Hon. Alexander.
“Yes.” The man had no idea the monosyllable could be so short. Her voice was so musical that it was altogether too short.
“I’m A. H. Burrow. I’m the best man.”