No, not any definite one. She heard from the man's wife sayin' that her
husband--the cousin--had gone on a fishin' trip somewheres up in Canady
and wouldn't be back afore the eighth of next month. Soon's he does come
he'll write her. But Mr. Hilton thinks, and so do I--havin' heard a
few things about this cousin--that it's mighty doubtful if he sends any
money."

"Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Where's Olive goin' to stay while she's
waitin' to hear?"

"In her own house. Mr. Hilton went to Williams and pleaded with him, and
he finally agreed to let her stay there until the 'Colonial' is moved
onto the lot. Then the Edwardses house'll be tore down and Olive'll have
to go, of course."

The depot master puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.

"She won't hear before the tenth, at the earliest," he said. "And if
Williams begins to move his 'Colonial' at once, he'll get it to her lot
by the seventh, sure. Have you given him your figures for the job?"

"Handed 'em in this very mornin'. One of his high-and-mighty servants,
all brass buttons and braid, like a feller playin' in the band, took my
letter and condescended to say he'd pass it on to Williams. I'd liked
to have kicked the critter, just to see if he COULD unbend; but I jedged
'twouldn't be good business."

"Probably not. If the 'Colonial' gets to Olive's lot afore she hears
from the Omaha man, what then?"

"Well, that's the worst of it. The minister don't know what she'll do.
There's plenty of places where she'd be more'n welcome to visit a spell,
but she's too proud to accept. Mr. Hilton's afraid she'll start for
Boston to hunt up a job, or somethin'. You know how much chance she
stands of gettin' a job that's wuth anything."

Phinney paused, anxiously awaiting his companion's reply. When it came
it was very unsatisfactory.

"I'm goin' to the depot," said the Captain, brusquely. "So long, Sim."

He slammed the door of the house behind him, strode to the gate, flung
it open, and marched on. Simeon gazed in astonishment, then hurried
to overtake him. Ranging alongside, he endeavored to reopen the
conversation, but to no purpose. The depot master would not talk. They
turned into Cross Street.

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Phinney, panting from his unaccustomed hurry,
"what be we, runnin' a race? Why! . . . Oh, how d'ye do, Mr. Williams,
sir? Want to see me, do you?"

The magnate of East Harniss stepped forward.

"Er--Phinney," he said, "I want a moment of your time. Morning