platform, through a deluge of wind-driven water, and into a small, hot, close-smelling waiting room. When he pushed his hat clear of his eyes he saw that his rescuer was the big man who boarded the train at Ostable. He was holding the missing bag and smiling.

“Dirty weather, hey?” he observed, pleasantly. “Sorry your umbrella had to go by the board. I see you was carryin’ too much canvas and tried to run alongside in time to give you a tow; but you was dismasted just as I got there. Here’s your dunnage, all safe and sound.”

He extended the traveling bag at arm’s length. Mr. Graves accepted his property and murmured thanks, not too cordially. His dignity and temper had gone overboard with the umbrella, and he had not yet recovered them.

“Well,” went on his companion, “here we are! And I, for one, wanted to be somewheres else. Caleb,” turning to the station master, who came in at that moment, “any way of my gettin’ home to-night?”

“’Fraid not, Cap’n,” was the answer. “I don’t know of any. Guess you’ll have to put up at the hotel and wait till mornin’.”

“That’s right,” agreed the passenger called “Dan,” who was standing near. “That’s what Jerry and I are goin’ to do.”

“Yes, but you and Jerry are bound for Orham. I’m booked for South Denboro, and that’s only seven miles off. I’d swim the whole seven rather than put up at Sim Titcomb’s hotel. I’ve been there afore, thank you! Look here, Caleb, can’t I hire a team and drive over?”

“Well, I don’t know. S’pose you might ring up Pete Shattuck and ask him. He’s pretty particular about his horses, though, and I cal’late he—”

“All right. I’ll ring him up. Pete ought to get over some of his particularness to oblige me. I’ve helped him once or twice.”

He was on his way to the ticket office, where the telephone hung on the wall. But Mr. Graves stepped forward and spoke to him.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the lawyer. “Did I understand you to say you were going to South Denboro?”

“Yes. I am, if the powers—and Pete Shattuck—’ll let me.”

“You were going to drive over? May I go with you? I’m very anxious to get to South Denboro to-night. I have some very important business there, and I want to complete it and get away to-morrow. I must be back in New York by the morning following.”

The captain looked his questioner over. There was a doubtful look on his face, and he smiled quizzically.

“Well, I don’t know, Mr.—”

“Graves is my name.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Graves. This ain’t goin’ to be a pleasure cruise exactly. You might get pretty wet.”

“I don’t care. I can get dry again when I get there. Of course I shall share the expense of the livery. I shall be greatly obliged if I may go with you. If not, I must try for a rig myself.”

“Oh, if you feel that way about it, why, come ahead and welcome. I was only warnin’ you, that’s all. However, with me aboard for ballast, I guess we won’t blow away. Wait a jiffy till I get after Pete.”

He entered the ticket office and raised a big hand to the little crank of the telephone bell.

“Let’s see, Caleb,” he called; “what’s Shattuck’s number?”

“Four long and two short,” answered the station master.

Graves, wondering vaguely what sort of telephone system was in use on Cape Cod, heard his prospective pilot ring the instrument for a full two seconds, repeating the ring four times altogether. This he followed with two sharp tinkles. Then came a series of shouted “Hellos!” and, at last, fragments of one-half of a dialogue.

“That you, Shattuck? Know who this is, don’t you? Yes, that’s right.... Say, how many folks listen every time a bell rings on this line? I’ve heard no less’n eight receivers come down so far.... Two of ’em went up then, did you hear ’em?... Sartin ... I want to hire a team to go over home with... To-night—Sartin ... I don’t care.... Yes, you will, too... Yes, you will.... Send my man back with it to-morrow.... I don’t care what it is, so it’s got four legs and wheels....”

And so on for at least five minutes. Then the captain hung up the receiver and came back to the waiting room.

“Bargain’s made, Mr. Graves,” he announced. “Pete’ll have some sort of a turn-out alongside soon’s he can get it harnessed. If you’ve got any extra storm duds in that satchel of yours, I’d advise you to put ’em on. We’re goin’ to have a rough passage.”

Just how rough it was likely to be, Graves realized when he emerged from the station to board the Shattuck buggy. “Pete” himself had driven the equipage over from the livery stable.

“I wouldn’t do this for anybody but you, Cap’n,” he vouchsafed, in what might be called a reproachful shout. Shouting was necessary, owing to the noise of the storm.

“Wouldn’t do what?” replied the captain, looking first at the ancient horse and then at the battered buggy.

“Let this horse out a night like this.”

“Humph! I should think night would be the only time you would let him out.... There! there! never mind. Get aboard, Mr. Graves. Put your satchel on the floor between your feet. Here, let me h’ist that boot for you.”

The “boot” was a rubber curtain buttoned across the front of the buggy, extending from the dashboard to just below the level of the driver’s eyes. The lawyer clambered in behind it, the captain followed, the end of the reins was passed through a slit in the boot, Mr. Shattuck, after inquiring if they were “all taut,” gave the command, “Gid-dap!” and horse and buggy moved around the corner of the station, out into darkness.

Of the next hour Graves’s memories are keen but monotonous,—a strong smell of stable, arising from the laprobe which had evidently been recently used as a horse blanket; the sound of hoofs, in an interminable “jog, jog—splash, splash,” never hurrying; a series of exasperated howls from the captain, who was doing his best to make them hurry; the thunderous roar of rain on the buggy top and the shrieking gale which rocked the vehicle on its springs and sent showers of fine spray driving in at every crack and crevice between the curtains.

The view ahead, over the boot, was blackness, bordered by spidery trees and branches whipping in the wind. Occasionally they passed houses sitting well back from the road, a lighted window gleaming cozily. And ever, as they moved, the storm seemed to gather force.

Graves noticed this and, at length, when his nervousness had reached the breaking point, screamed a question in his companion’s ear. They had attempted no conversation during the ride, the lawyer, whose contemptuous opinion of the locality and all its inhabitants was now a conviction, feeling that the result would not be worth the effort, and the captain busy with his driving.

“It is blowing worse than ever, isn’t it?” yelled the nervous Graves.

“Hey? No, just about the same. It’s dead sou’-west and we’re getting out of the woods, that’s all. Up on those bare hills we catch the full force of it right off the Sound. Be there pretty soon now, if this Old Hundred of a horse would quit walkin in his ’sleep and really move. Them lights ahead are South Denboro.”

The lights were clustered at the foot of a long and rather steep hill. Down the declivity bounced and rocked the buggy. The horse’s hoofs sounded hollow on the planks of a bridge. The road narrowed and became a village street, bordered and arched by tall trees which groaned and threshed in the