The Fighting Chance | Page 2

his fingers, knelt, and tried the lock. It resisted. From the depths of the crate a beseeching paw fell upon his cuff.
��Certainly, old fellow,�� he said soothingly, ��I know how you feel about it; I know you��re in a hurry--and we��ll have you out in a second--steady, boy!--something��s jammed, you see! Only one moment now! There you are!��
The dog attempted to bolt as the crate door opened, but the young man caught him by the leather collar and the groom snapped on a leash.
��Beg pardon, Sorr,�� began the groom, carried almost off his feet by the frantic circling of the dog--��beg pardon, Sorr, but I��ll be afther seem�� if anny of Mr. Ferrall��s men drove over for you--��
��Oh! Are you not one of Mr. Ferrall��s men?��
��Yis, Sorr, but I hadn��t anny orders to meet anny wan--��
��Haven��t you anything here to drive me in?��
��Yis, Sorr--I��ll look to see--��
The raw groom, much embarrassed, and keeping his feet with difficulty against the plunging dog, turned toward the gravel drive where now only a steam motor and a depot-wagon remained. As they looked the motor steamed out, honking hoarsely; the depot-wagon followed, leaving the circle at the end of the station empty of vehicles.
��Didn��t Mr. Ferrall expect me?�� asked Siward.
��Aw, yis, Sorr; but the gintlemen for Shotover House does ginerally allways coom by Black Fells, Sorr--��
��Oh, Lord!�� said the young man, ��I remember now. I should have gone on to Black Fells Crossing; Mr. Ferrall wrote me!�� Then, amused: ��I suppose you have only a baggage-wagon here?��
��No, Sorr--a phayton��--he hesitated.
��Well? Isn��t a phaeton all right?��
��Yis, Sorr--if th�� yoong lady says so--beg pardon, Sorr, Miss Landis is driving.��
��Oh--h! I see. �� Is Miss Landis a guest at Shotover House?��
��Yis, Sorr. An�� if ye would joost ask her--the phayton do be coming now, Sorr!��
The phaeton was coming; the horse, a showy animal, executed side-steps; blue ribbons fluttered from the glittering head-stall; a young girl in white was driving.
Siward advanced to the platform��s edge as the phaeton drew up; the young lady looked inquiringly at the groom, at the dog, and leisurely at him.
So he took off his hat, naming himself in that well-bred and agreeable manner characteristic of men of his sort,--and even his smile appeared to be part and parcel of a conventional ensemble so harmonious as to remain inconspicuous.
��You should have gone on to Black Fells Crossing,�� observed Miss Landis, coolly controlling the nervous horse. ��Didn��t you know it?��
He said he remembered now that such were the directions given him.
The girl glanced at him incuriously, and with more curiosity at the dog. ��Is that the Sagamore pup, Flynn?�� she asked.
��It is, Miss.��
��Can��t you take him on the rumble with you?�� And, to Siward: ��There is room for your gun and suit case.��
��And for me?�� he asked, smiling.
��I think so. Be careful of that Sagamore pup, Flynn. Hold him between your knees. Are you ready, Mr. Siward?��
So he climbed in; the groom hoisted the dog to the rumble and sprang up behind; the horse danced and misbehaved, making a spectacle of himself and an agreeable picture of his driver; then the pretty little phaeton swung northward out of the gravel drive and went whirling along a road all misty with puffs of yellow dust which the afternoon sun turned to floating golden powder.
��Did you send my telegram, Flynn?�� she asked without turning her head.
��I did, Miss.��
It being the most important telegram she had ever sent in all her life, Miss Landis became preoccupied,--quite oblivious to extraneous details, including Siward, until the horse began acting badly again. Her slightly disdainful and perfect control of the reins interested the young man. He might have said something civil and conventional about that, but did not make the effort to invade a reserve which appeared to embarrass nobody.
A stacatto note from the dog, prolonged infinitely in hysterical crescendo, demanded comment from somebody.
��What is the matter with him, Flynn?�� she asked.
Siward said: ��You should let him run, Miss Landis.��
She nodded, smiling, inattentive, absorbed in her own affairs, still theorising concerning her telegram. She drove on for a while, and might have forgotten the dog entirely had he not once more lifted his voice in melancholy.
��You say he ought to run for a mile or two? Do you think he��ll bolt, Mr. Siward?��
��Is he a new dog?��
��Yes, fresh from the kennels; supposed to be house-and wagon-broken, steady to shot and wing--�� She shrugged her pretty shoulders. ��You see how he��s acting already!��
��Do you mind if I try him?�� suggested Siward.
��You mean that you are going to let him run?��
��I think so.��
��And if he bolts?��
��I��ll take my chances.��
��Yes, but please consider my chances, Mr. Siward. The dog doesn��t belong to me.��
��But he ought to run--��
��But suppose he runs away? He��s a horridly expensive creature--if you care to take the risk.��
��I��ll take the