"But my dear man, the train's moving."
Marjorie clung all the tighter and invited him to "Come on to the next stop."
"But my dear lady," Selby gasped, "it's impossible."
"You've just got to," Mallory insisted.
"Release me, please."
"How dare you!" the parson shrieked, and with a sudden wriggle writhed out of his coat, leaving it in Marjorie's hands. He darted to the door and flung it open, with Mallory hot after him.
The train was kicking up a cloud of dust and getting its stride. The kidnapped clergyman paused a moment, aghast at the speed with which the ground was being paid out. Then he climbed the brass rail and, with a hasty prayer, dropped overboard.
Mallory lunged at him, and seized him by his reversed collar. But the collar alone remained in his clutch. The parson was almost lost in the dust he created as he struck, bounded and rolled till he came to a stop, with his stars and his prayers to thank for injuries to nothing worse than his dignity and other small clothes.
Mallory returned to the observation room and flung the collar and bib to the floor in a fury of despair, howling: