as taken on, and the reserve tank filled.

"Adot is on ahead about eight miles, but we turn here for the final
dash."

The final dash was but a creep. Except for the bridge over Ripple
Creek, the roadway was just a trail. The sun had gone down for good.
The lights, none too good, revealed little of the hazards. It was a
long, steady grind, mostly uphill. At last a light appeared ahead. A
dog barked. A lantern shone. Welborn turned the car through a gate.
"Gillis Station," he called out to the midget who had remained very
quiet.

"Have them drive up next to the house," a woman's voice called from
within. "We will throw a canvas over the trailer. They will stay here
tonight. It's too cold to stay in a house that has had no fire."

"There's your orders, Welborn. Drive right over here next to the
chimney. Howdy, Mr. Lannarck, you and Welborn get out and limber up
for there's prospect for a fine supper." It was Gillis speaking as he
aided Davy out of the cab.

"I am Davy to you folks," said the little man as he stamped around to
limber up from the long confinement. "You are Mrs. Gillis, I know, and
you are Landy, aren't you? Will I fit that hoss that the girl owns?"

"You are about a half-hand short right now," the old man chuckled,
"but after a few hikes up to Pinnacle Point, you should fit that
little hoss jist like a clothespin fits the line."

It was a fine supper. There was also a home-made high chair that just
fit Davy's needs.

"Before I go to bed," said Davy earnestly and firmly, "I am going to
write down that supper menu and send it to poor old Lew and Jess, who
are wearing out shoe leather trying to find a restaurant where the
steaks aren't made out of saddle skirts and the potatoes and the
candle grease have parted company. Lemme see, there was fried chicken
and the best cream gravy I ever tasted, mashed potatoes, creamed peas,
fluffier biscuits than those birds ever saw, two kinds of jelly,
strawberry preserves, some other preserves, and apple pie with whipped
cream on it.

"A long time ago--it was my first year in vaudeville--Mr. Singer gave
his midget performers a dinner at one of the celebrated New York
restaurants, I think they called the place Shanley's, a swell place
with a private dining-room, lots of waiters, food in courses. Well,
that big feed would be a tramp's handout compared with this dinner
tonight." Davy was either talking to himself or was trying to interest
Welborn in the conversatio