And after waiting, in whimsical delay, to make sure that Mr. Barnes had not come footing it behind the train, Frank whipped up and drove back to Egypt. He felt no pique; he had enjoyed the outing in the sparkling night.
In the gray dawn he again routed out Files's yawning hostler and turned the equipage over to him.
“Hope you found it a starry night for a ramble,” suggested the hostler, willing to be informed as to why a bank cashier had been gallivanting around over the country between days, turning in a sweating horse at break of dawn.
Vaniman allowed that it was a starry night, all right, and left the topic there, with a period set to it by the snap of his tone.
He went directly to the bank and admitted himself with his keys.
President Britt came from the back room, with yawns that matched those of the hostler.
“What time did Barnes say he'd be down here from the tavern in the morning?”
“Mr. Barnes did not come on that train, sir.”
“Well, I'll be—” rapped Britt, snapping shut his jaws.
“But I haven't minded the trip—I really enjoyed the ride,” insisted the messenger.