Brockway vanished obediently, and presently found Burton struggling into his outer garments in the smoking-room.
"Hello, Fred; how are the invalids this morning? Get you out bright and early?"
"One of them did—that old fellow with the bad case of ticket-limits. I'm in trouble up to my neck, and you've got to help me out."
"Say the word and I'll do it if it costs me something," said Burton, who was nothing if not helpful to his friends.
"It's going to cost you something—a whole day, in fact. I promised to 'personally conduct' the crowd up to Silver Plume to-day, and the arrangements are all made. Now this old fellow says he isn't going; says I've got to stay in Denver with him and telegraph another thirty days to his ticket, or the heavens will fall. I'm going to do it, and I want you to take my place with the party."
"Same old maker of hard-and-fast promises, aren't you, Fred," said the general agent, smiling. "I suppose I can do it, if you can square it with Emily."
"I've done that already; she's awfully good about it—says she'll go along and help you out. What's this place? Overton? By Jove! I'll have to be getting back to my car; we're only fifteen miles out. Thank you much, old man—see you later"—and the passenger agent pushed through the group in the wash-room and dropped off to once more make the circuit of car Naught-fifty.