epot, and for the sixth
time in ten minutes consulted the watch that was the pride of his life.
He had been waiting for half an hour, not because the train was late, but
because he proposed to be on the spot if by any happy chance it should
arrive ahead of schedule time. The week before he had received a picture
post-card on whose narrow margin were scrawled the meager lines:

So glad Cass is up again. Rose says you've been a brick. Home on
Sept. 2. Hope to see you soon. E. M. B.

It was the only communication he had had from Eleanor since they sat on
the stile in the starlight at Valley Mead three months before. To be
sure, in her infrequent letters to Rose she had always added, "Give my
love to Quinby Graham," and once she said: "Tell him I've been meaning to
write to him all summer." Notwithstanding the fact that Quin had waited
in vain for that letter for twelve consecutive weeks, that he had passed
through every phase of indignation, jealousy, and consuming fear that can
assail a young and undisciplined lover, he nevertheless watched for the
incoming train with a rapture undimmed by disturbing reflections. The
mere fact that every moment the distance was lessening between him and
Eleanor, that within the hour he should see her, hear her, feel the clasp
of her hand, was sufficient to send his spirits soaring into sunny spaces
of confidence far above the clouds of doubt.

"Hello, Quinby; what are you doing here?" asked a voice behind him; and
turning he saw the long, oval face and lady-like figure of Mr. Chester.

"Same thing you are," said Quin, grinning sympathetically. "Only if I was
in your shoes I'd be walking the tracks to meet the train."

Mr. Chester shook his head and smiled primly.

"When you have waited twenty years for a young lady, twenty minutes more
or less do not matter."

"They would to me!" Quin declared emphatically. "When is the wedding to
be?"

"On the fourteenth. And that reminds me"--Mr. Chester ran his arm
confidentially through Quin's and tried to catch step. "I want to ask a
favor of you."

A favor to Quin meant anything from twenty-five cents to twenty-five
dollars, and the fact that Mr. Chester should come to him flattered and
embarrassed him at the same time.

"What's mine is yours," he said magnanimously.

"No, you don't understand," said Mr. Chester. "You see, not being a club
man or a society man, I have in a way dropped out of things. I have
comparatively few frie