“This is pretty fine, to my way of thinking,” declared Dave.
Fully one half of the car was given up to Cadmus. The box stall at one end was padded and cushioned to guard against jarring. The feed box was of porcelain, and the light blanket they put on Cadmus was as fine as a silk bedquilt.
“Come in, youngster,” invited the horseman, when he had seen that Cadmus was attended to properly.
He led Dave into a partitioned-off apartment, comfortable as a boudoir in the Pullman sleeper. There was a couch, a table and plush covered easy chairs. Into one of the chairs Dave sank.
“I calculated I’d have had some trouble in getting that horse if you hadn’t come along,” asserted the man.
“Oh, when Cadmus got through playing he would have been docile enough,” suggested Dave.
“And made me miss railroad connections and a big race to-morrow,” added the horseman. “See, here,” and he glanced into a pocket book he had taken out, and then drew a long slim book and a fountain pen from another pocket, “what’s your name?”
“Why,” hesitated Dave, “what do you want to know for?”
“I want to give you a check.”
“What for?”