The locomotive whistled, and the conductor came out of the village drug-store, staggering slightly.
"I've left all my dry-fly tackle," said Pritchard. "Will you take care of it for me?"
"With pleasure," said Gay.
"I'd like you to use it. It's a lovely rod to throw line."
"All aboard!"
"I'd like to bring you out some rods and things. May I?"
"You bet you may!" exclaimed Gay.
Pritchard sighed. The train creaked, jolted, moved forward, stopped, jerked, and moved forward again. Pritchard waited until the rear steps of the rear car were about to pass.
"Good-by, Miss Gay!"