"Goodbye," he said, leaning suddenly inward as the car commenced to lose momentum. "When I come back"——
"Hurry, hurry," she pleaded. "Run"——
He leaped before the car stopped and, with one glance back toward her, sprinted down the long passageway.
The gate was closing. He cried aloud, and ran faster. The gate clanged. A boy in uniform ran to him and shoved tickets into his hands as they ran side by side.
"Open it! Let me through!" he screamed at the gateman, just starting to lock the gate.
McCarthy was sprinting desperately in pursuit of the train already half way down the long train shed. He ran until his heart pounded audibly against his ribs, straining every muscle, and crying for the train to stop. Faster and faster it went, and, near the end of the station, McCarthy realized he had lost the race and, stopping, he stood dejectedly looking after the rapidly disappearing observation car.
The gateman let him out with a sympathetic word, but he did not raise his head. He knew that, 235 miles away, twenty men were hoping for his arrival. He would hire a special train. He whirled at the thought—and then remembered he was without money.
He felt a hand touch his arm and, turning quickly, he saw Betty Tabor.
"I missed it," he said, hopelessly.
"I know, I know," she responded quickly. "The boy who had the tickets told me. There is no time to lose. I have a plan."