After luncheon the party in the other special all came out and walked up and down the platform, the sound of their voices and laughter only making me feel the bluer. Before long I heard a rap on one of my windows, and there was Miss Cullen peering in at me. The moment I looked up, she called,—
“Won’t you make one of us, Mr. Misanthrope?”
I called myself all sorts of a fool, but out I went as eagerly as if there had been some hope. Miss Cullen began to tease me over my sudden access of energy, declaring that she was sure it was a pose for their benefit, or else due to a guilty conscience over having slept so late.
“I hoped you would ride with us, though perhaps it wouldn’t have paid you. Apparently there is nothing to see in Ash Forks.”
“There is something that may interest you all,” I suggested, pointing to a special that had been dropped off No. 2 that morning.
“What is it?” asked Madge.
“It’s a G. S. special,” I said, “and Mr. Camp and Mr. Baldwin and two G. S. officials came in on it.”
“What do you think he’d give for those letters?” laughed Fred.
“If they were worth so much to you, I suppose they can’t be worth any less to the G. S.,” I replied.
“Fortunately, there is no way that he can learn where they are,” said Mr. Cullen.