He pointed over his shoulder towards the stationary light down the road. “The kind they do be havin’ in the Owl Wagon, down there—frankfooties or doggies, ’tis the same. I could get ye wan, wid a roll; they’re cleaned out in the s’loon here.”
“Thank you, I’d rather not eat,” said Mrs. Gibbons in haste, and then started nervously as the noise of footsteps running broke upon the ear. The three men who had followed the thief came in sight from the direction in which they had fled from the car. One called out, “Good-night, I’m going to hoof it home!”
And another voice also called, “Glad you got your pocketbook back again—ought to have got the fellow, too.”
The third said nothing, as he came towards the platform. Mrs. Gibbons turned her head away. The next instant a voice of amazement said, “Nita! You here!” and, looking up, she saw her husband.
“Oh, Arnold, Arnold!” She stopped short in view of his face. “Oh, Arnold, I don’t wonder you’re surprised to see me, dear, but I’ve been looking for you!”
“Looking for me! Nita! Nita! Nita!”
The astonishment in his voice held something ominous in it. She clung to his arm with both hands, as she rose with him, and hardly realized, in her excited explaining and explaining, that she was being borne off down the road without waiting for the car, at a tremendous pace, and still spasmodically explaining to a portentous silence. When he spoke at last it was in a tone that sounded dangerous:
“So the Worthingtons went off and left you?”
“No, no, they were in the car, they——”
“I’ll—I’ll see Worthington to-morrow!” He paused for control, and Mrs. Gibbons had a swift vision of Mr. Worthington’s head rolling off into a basket. “I never heard such a lot of crazy stuff—I never heard of such a thing—I never heard of such a thing! It all comes of your being out of the house when I came home. What on earth you want to go wild-goose chasing for at the very time you know I’m coming home——”