The Flyers | Page 9

to her feet eagerly.
"I think not." He was slowing down. A moment later the throbbing car
came to a stop beside the railway station platform. The lights blinked
feebly through the mist; far off in the night arose the faint toot of a
locomotive's whistle.
"We're just in time," he cried. "She's coming. Quick!" He lifted her
bodily over the side of the car, jerked two suitcases from beneath the
curtains, and rushed frantically to the shelter of the platform sheds.
"I'll leave you here, dear," he was saying rapidly. "Wait a second; there
is your railroad ticket and your drawing-room ticket, too. I'll wake
Derby when I get on board. I have to run the automobile down to
Henry's garage first. Won't take ten seconds. Don't worry. The train
won't be here for three or four minutes. Get on board and go to sleep.
I'll be two cars ahead."
"Oh, Joe, won't I see you again before we start?" she cried despairingly.

"I'll be back in a minute. It's only half a block to Henry's. All I have to
do is to leave the car in front of his place. His men will look after it. It's
all understood, dearest; don't worry. I'll be here before the train, never
fear. Stand here in the shadow, dear." He gave her what might have
been a passionate kiss had it not been for the intervention of veil and
goggles. Then he was off to the motor, his heart thumping frantically.
Standing as stiff and motionless as a statue against the damp brick wall,
she heard the automobile leap away and go pounding down the street.
Apparently she was alone on the platform; the ticking of telegraph
instruments came to her anxious ears, however, and she knew there
were living people inside the long, low building. The experience
certainly was new to this tall, carefully nurtured girl. Never before had
she been left alone at such an hour and place; it goes without saying
that the circumstances were unique. Here she was, standing alone in the
most wretched of nights, her heart throbbing with a dozen emotions,
her eyes and ears labouring in a new and thrilling enterprise, her whole
life poised on the social dividing line. She was running away to marry
the man she had loved for years; slipping away from the knot that
ambition was trying to throw over her rebellious head. If she had any
thought of the past or the future, however, it was lost among the fears
and anxieties of the present. Her soul was crying out for the approach
of two objects--Joe Dauntless and the north-bound flyer.
Her sharp ears caught the sound which told her that the motor had
stopped down the street; it was a welcome sound, for it meant that he
was racing back to the station--and just in time, too; the flyer was
pounding the rails less than half a mile away.
Fenlock was a division point in the railroad. The company's yards and
the train despatcher's office were located there. A huge round-house
stood off to the right; half a dozen big headlights glared out at the
shivering Eleanor like so many spying, accusing eyes. She knew that
all trains stopped in Fenlock. Joe had told her that the flyer's pause was
the briefest of any during the day or night; still she wondered if it
would go thundering through and spoil everything.
Miss Thursdale, watching the approaching headlight, her ears filled

with the din of the wheels, did not see or hear a second motor car rush
up to the extreme south end of the platform. She was not thinking of
Windomshire or his machine. That is why she failed to witness an
extraordinary incident.
As the driver leaped from the car a second man disconnected himself
from the shadows, paused for a moment to take orders from the new
arrival, and then jumped into the seat just vacated. Whereupon the
one-time driver performed precisely the same feat that Dauntless had
performed three minutes before him. He jerked forth a couple of bags
and then proceeded to lift from the tonneau of the car a vague but
animate something, which, an instant later, resolved itself into the form
of a woman at his side.
"I've settled with the company, Meaders," hurriedly announced
Windomshire to the man on the seat. "The car is in your hands now."
"Yes, sir; I understand. Your week is up to-night. Hope it was
satisfactory, sir." The car shot off in the night, almost running down a
man who scudded across the street in its path.
"Just in time, Anne," said Windomshire to the tall, hooded figure
beside him. "Thank God, we didn't miss it."
"Hasn't it been good sport, Harry?" cried the young woman, with