"What station is this?" he inquired of a boy who, like himself, was peering into the darkness.
"Oh, this is a way-station. We'll be in Syracuse in about half an hour. We've got to change cars there."
"We don't if we're going to Buffalo," answered Tode, in a business-like tone. He knew nothing whatever about the matter.
"Yes we do, too. Got to wait an hour. I just asked the conductor."
Tode walked in and took his seat; he saw his way clear. Presently came the conductor, and halted before him. Tode's hand sought his pocket.
"How much to Syracuse?" he questioned; and being naturally told the rate of fare from their last stopping place to Syracuse, he counted it out and sat back at his leisure.
At Syracuse Mr. Hastings went into the hotel to get his breakfast. Tode walked the piazza and whistled for his; besides he had something to do. He didn't see his way clear, but the more difficult the way grew the more delightful it looked to Tode, and the more determined was he to tread it. The hour sped on. Mr. Hastings' breakfast was concluded. He was in the depot now talking with an acquaintance. Tode was just behind him thinking still.
"All aboard!" shouted the official. "Passengers for Buffalo this way!"
And Mr. Hastings caught up valise, bundle, umbrella, cane, and vanished—all those, but the fur-lined cloak lay innocently cuddled in a warm heap on the seat. Tode seized upon it in an instant and hugged it close.
"Oh, Wolfie, Wolfie!" he chuckled, "You're the best friend I got in the world. You went and got left on my account, didn't you?"