Mrs. Slawson smoothed her dress over her knees. "Come an' sit on my lap, sonny-boy, an' I'll tell you all about it. Only bein' so young, an' havin' such a tender conscience with you, it might keep you awake in your crib nights. Did you ever see weels, as thick as my thumb, on the white skin of a young girl's shoulders? Well, I could turn back the waist o' that one in there, an' show you such. Raised by the leather-belt o' her mother's second husban', which they're perfect ladies an' gen'lmen, o' course, bless their hearts. They will be after her like mad, when they know she's given'm the slip. Good lan'! If young fellas was reely young fellas nowadays, you'd be glad of the chancet to pour some o' the Widow Cruse's oil on a poor ill-used child's troubled waters. An' not be thinkin' o' yourself all the time—if it'd harm you to help her, or if the Comp'ny would objec'."
The youth regarded her with level eyes.
"You can count on me," he said. "I'm with you in this, no matter what."
"Good bey!" said Martha.
The hours dragged wearily along. One by one disappointed travelers who had strayed off to kill time at the hotel, returned to meet their delayed train.
Martha had advance information concerning its coming, the lad at the wire furnishing it gratuitously.
"It'll be along now in five minutes," he said, "and I've put the baggage-man wise, so he's ready to help you get her off, as fine as silk, even if——"
Just then Martha saw Sam approaching. Though his step and manner were, to all outward appearances as usual, she instantly knew something was amiss.
"What is it?" she asked calmly.
"He's come. Him and Harding are here. They haven't seen me nor the car yet. I put that beyond, under a shed, where it wouldn't be conspicuous. But we can't dodge them long, and——"