ny one! What's to stop him, what?"

Eaton, suddenly reminded of his telegram, put a hand into his pocket
and fingered the torn scraps; he had meant to remove and destroy them,
but had forgotten. He glanced at Harriet Dorne.

"What he says is quite true," she observed. She was smiling, however,
as most of the other passengers were, at the Englishman's vehemence.

They engaged in conversation as they breakfasted--a conversation in
which Avery took almost no part, though Miss Dorne tried openly to draw
him in; then the sudden entrance of Connery, followed closely by a
stout, brusque man who belonged to the rear Pullman, took Eaton's
attention and hers.

Other passengers also looked up; and the nervous, untidy young man at
the table near the door again slopped coffee over himself as the
conductor gazed about.

"Which is him?" the man with Connery demanded loudly.

Connery checked him, but pointed at the same time to Eaton.

"That's him, is it?" the other man said. "Then go ahead."

Eaton observed that Avery, who had turned in his seat, was watching
this diversion on the part of the conductor with interest. Connery
stopped beside Eaton's seat.

"You took a telegram for Lawrence Hillward this morning," he asserted.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it was mine, or meant for me, as I said at the time. My name
is Eaton; but Mr. Hillward expected to make this trip with me."

The stout man with the conductor forced himself forward.

"That's pretty good, but not quite good enough!" he charged.
"Conductor, get that telegram for me!"

Eaton got up, controlling himself under the insult of the other's
manner.

"What business is it of yours?" he demanded.

"What business? Why, only that I'm Lawrence Hillward--that's all, my
friend! What are you up to, anyway? Lawrence Hillward traveling with
you! I never set eyes on you until I saw you on this train; and you
take my telegram!" The charge was made loudly and distinctly; every
one in the dining car--Eaton could not see every one, but he knew it
was so--had put down fork or cup or spoon and was staring at him.
"What did you do it for? What did you want with it?" the stout man
blared on. "Did you think I wasn't on the train? What?

"I was in the washroom," he continued, roaring for the benefit of the
car, "when the conductor went by with it. I couldn't take the telegram
then--so I waited for the conductor to come back. When I got dressed,
I found him, and he