g guest; but it interested the scout even more in the
developing situation. Scott finished his breakfast and gave himself
entirely over to watching in a lazy way the man who was making so
elaborate a toilet.

There was no escape from either end of the car. That could be managed
only through the side doors, which were too close to Scott to be
available, and the scout, now fairly well enlightened and prepared,
merely awaited developments. He wanted to see the man come to his
breakfast, and the man in the wash-room, combing his hair with vigor
and peering anxiously through his own scrap of a mirror at Bob Scott,
wanted to see the scout finish his coffee and leave the car. Scott,
however, pounding ostentatiously on the table, called for a second cup
of coffee and sipped it with apparent satisfaction. It was a game of
cat and mouse--with the mouse, in this instance, bigger than the cat,
but as shy and reluctant to move as any mouse could be in a cat's
presence. Scott waited until he thought the embarrassed man would have
brushed the hair all out of his head, and at last, in spite of
himself, laughed. As he did so, he turned half-way around on his stool
and lifted his finger.

"Come, Rebstock," he smiled, calling to the fugitive. "Your breakfast
is getting cold."

The man, turning as red as a beet, looked over the heads of those that
sat between him and his tantalizing captor. But putting the best face
he could on the dilemma and eying Scott nervously he walked over and,
with evident reluctance, made ready to sit down beside him.

"Take your time," suggested Scott pleasantly. Then, as Rebstock, quite
crestfallen, seated himself, he added: "Hadn't I better order a hot
cup of coffee for you?" He took hold of the cup as he spoke, and
looked hard at the gambler while making the suggestion.

"No, no," responded Rebstock, equally polite and equally insistent, as
he held his hand over the cup and begged Scott not to mind. "This is
all right."

"How was the walking last night?" asked Scott, passing the fugitive a
big plate of bread. Rebstock lifted his eyes from his plate for the
briefest kind of a moment.

"The--eh--walking? I don't know what you mean, captain. I slept here
last night."

Scott looked under the table at his victim's boots. "John," he asked
without a smile, "do you ever walk in your sleep?"

Rebstock threw down his knife and fork. "Look here, stranger," he
demanded with indignation. "What do you want? Can'