on and--and
do something I'll be sorry for all the rest of my life. And it'll be
your fault! I was going to do it when the accident prevented. Do you
believe in Providence?"

"Not as a butt-in," he answered promptly. "I don't believe that
Providence would pitch a rock into a train and kill a lot of people,
just to prevent a girl from making a foo--a bad break."

"Nor I," she smiled. "I suppose there's some kind of a General Manager
over this queer world; but I believe He plays the game fair and square
and doesn't break the rules He has made Himself. If I didn't, I wouldn't
want to play at all!... Oh, my telegram! I must wire my aunt in New
York. I'll tell her that I've stopped off to visit friends, if you don't
object to that description as being too compromising," she added
mischievously. She accepted a pad which he handed her and sat at the
table, pondering. "Mr. Banneker," she said after a moment.

"Well?"

"If the telegram goes from here, will it be headed by the name of the
station?"

"Yes."

"So that inquiry might be made here for me?"

"It might, certainly."

"But I don't want it to be. Couldn't you leave off the station?"

"Not very well."

"Just for me?" she wheedled. "For your guest that you've been so
insistent on keeping," she added slyly.

"The message wouldn't be accepted."

"Oh, dear! Then I won't send it."

"If you don't notify your family, I must report you to the company."

"What an irritating sense of duty you have! It must be dreadful to be
afflicted that way. Can't you suggest something?" she flashed. "Won't
you do a _thing_ to help me stay? I believe you don't want me, after
all."

"If the up-train gets through this evening, I'll give your wire to the
engineer and he'll transmit it from any office you say."

Childlike with pleasure she clapped her hands. "Of course! Give him
this, will you?" From a bag at her wrist she extracted a five-dollar
bill. "By the way, if I'm to be a guest I must be a paying guest, of
course."

"You can pay for a cot that I'll get in town," he agreed, "and your
share of the food."

"But the use of the house, and--and all the trouble I'm making you," she
said doubtfully. "I ought to pay for that."

"Do you think so?" He looked at her with a peculiar expression which,
however, was not beyond the power of her intuition to interpret.

"No; I don't," she declared.

Banneker answered her smile with his own, as he resumed his dish-wiping.
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