"He isn't; it's just because he is delirious."
There was a long pause, broken finally by a curt "Well?" from the father.
"I've been thinking," was the slow response. "Of course, there is a chance that he has friends in Wahaska, and that some one will be at the train to meet him. But it is only a chance."
"Why doesn't the conductor telegraph ahead and find out?"
"He doesn't know the man's name. I tried to get him to look for a card, or to break into the suit-cases under the berth, but he says the regulations won't let him."
"Well?" said the father again, this time with a more decided upward inflection. Then he added: "You've made up your mind what you're going to do: say it."
Margery's decision was announced crisply. "There is no hospital to send him to—which is Wahaska's shame. Maybe he will be met and taken care of by his friends: if he is, well and good; if he isn't, we'll put him in the carriage and take him home with us."
The cast-iron smile with the indulgent attachment wrinkled frostily upon Jasper Grierson's heavy face.
"The Good Samaritan act, eh? I've known you a long time, Madgie, but I never can tell when you're going to break out in a brand-new spot. Didn't lose any of your unexpectedness in Florida, did you?"
Miss Margery tossed her pretty head, and the dark eyes snapped.