The station agent winced, as though she had laid a lash across his shoulders, and in his awkward fashion endeavored to apologize for his road’s remissness. Like a tradesman reproved by his best customer, he promised Miss Herron that “it shouldn’t happen again.” It was quite in keeping with her character that she was graciously pleased to accept the man’s excuses. And then the agent, fired into an expansive cheerfulness by her kindness, said that which won him the mysterious present he received the following Christmas.
“Why can’t you take Miss Herron over, Mr. Fraser—hey? I guess that there autobile——”
“That——”
“Autobile,” repeated the agent, sturdily. “She’ll beat most o’ the trains on this road.”
“The very thing!” He made a mental promise never to forget this man’s kindness and tact. “Oldport! It wouldn’t take us an hour; and it’s the best piece of road in the State.”
“The idea!” exclaimed Miss Herron, gently scornful. “In an—automobile!”
“Please come,” he begged. “It would be such an honor, and a pleasure, too.”
“I should prefer the train.” But the very fact that she let a note of argument and protest come into her voice gave Archibald instant encouragement.
The station agent, warned by a furious wink, came nobly to the fore. “I’m afraid the train ain’t goin’ to do ye much good, ma’am. Not for some time, anyway. I never see such a road’s this.”
“I’ll go very carefully,” Archie went on, recklessly promising.