“He nodded solemn. 'Pard,' says he, 'I sure reckon you've called the turn. Let's shake hands on it.'
“So we shook; and . . .”
Captain Bailey stopped short and sprang from his chair. “There's my train comin',” he shouted. “Good-by, Sol! So long, Barzilla! Keep away from fortune tellers and pretty servant girls or YOU'LL be gettin' married pretty soon. Good-by.”
He darted out of the waiting room and his companions followed. Mr. Wingate, having a few final calls to make, left the station soon afterwards and did not return until evening. And that evening he heard news which surprised him.
As he and Captain Sol were exchanging a last handshake on the platform, Barzilla said:
“Well, Sol, I've enjoyed loafin' around here and yarnin' with you, same as I always do. I'll be over again in a month or so and we'll have some more.”
The Captain shook his head. “I may not be here then, Barzilla,” he observed.
“May not be here? What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I don't know exactly where I shall be. I shan't be depot master, anyway.”
“Shan't be depot master? YOU won't? Why, what on airth—”