own hard; Poritol, had he known it, might
have felt thankful that he was not near at hand. He turned to Bessie.
"How much farther is it?"

The chauffeur answered. "About three miles, sir."

Three miles over dark country roads--and it was nearly eleven o'clock. He
glanced ahead. In the distance a light twinkled.

"Bessie," he said, "come with me to that farmhouse. We must go on. Or, if
you prefer to wait here----"

"I'll go with you, of course."

They walked along the road to the farm gate. A cur yelped at their feet
as they approached the house, and an old man, coatless and slippered,
opened the door, holding an oil lamp high above his head. "Down, Rover!
What do you want?" he shouted.

"We've got to have a rig to take us to Winnetka," said Orme. "Our car
broke down."

The old man reflected. "Can't do it," he said, at last. "All shet up fer
the night. Can't leave the missus alone."

A head protruded from a dark upper window. "Yes, you can, Simeon,"
growled a woman's guttural voice.

"Wall--I don't know----"

"Yes, you can." She turned to Orme. "He'll take ye fer five dollars cash.
Ye can pay me."

Orme turned to Bessie. "Have you any money?" he whispered.

"Heavens! I left my hand-bag in my locker at the clubhouse. How stupid!"

"Never mind." Orme saw that he must lose the marked bill after all.
Regretfully he took it from his pocket. The woman had disappeared from
the window, and now she came to the door and stood behind her husband.
Wrapped in an old blanket, she made a gaunt figure, not unlike a squaw.
As Orme walked up the two or three steps, she stretched her hand over her
husband's shoulder and snatched the bill, examining it closely by the
lamplight.

"What's this writin' on it?" she demanded, fiercely.

"Oh, that's just somebody's joke. It doesn't hurt anything."

"Well, I don't know." She looked at it doubtfully, then crumpled it tight
in her fist. "I guess it'll pass. Git a move on you, Simeon."

The old man departed, grumbling, to the barn, and the woman drew back
into the house, shutting the door carefully. Orme and Bessie heard the
bolts click as she shot them home.

"Hospitable!" exclaimed Bessie, seating herself on the doorstep.

After a wait that seemed interminable, the old man came driving around
the house. To a ramshackle buggy he had hitched a decrepit horse. They
wedged in as best they could, the old man between them, and at a
shuffling amble the nag proceeded through the gat