"Never a word; and where Gertrude goes, I go," said Brockway, taking the
proffered hand with what show of indifference he could command.
"Very well, if you will have it so. If you are of the same mind in the
morning, perhaps you'd better join us at breakfast and we can talk it
over. Will you come?"
"Yes, if you will tell the other members of your party why I am there."
The President smiled again, sardonically this time.
"I think the occasion for that has gone by," he said. "Good-night."
When the outer door closed behind his visitor, Brockway collapsed as was
his undoubted privilege. Then he revived under the stimulus of an
overwaxing and masterful desire to see Gertrude again before he
slept--to share the good news with her before the burden of it should
crush him. And he was considering how it might be brought about when the
engineer blew the whistle for Bending Bow.
XXVII
THE DRUMMING WHEELS
Bending Bow is but an insignificant side-track on the
mountain-buttressed plain some thirty miles from Denver; and I would for
the sake of the two young persons whose romance this is, that it might
have been a meeting-point with a delayed train.
When the first of the switch-lights flashed past the windows of the
Tadmor, Brockway went out and stood on the step ready to drop off when
the speed should slacken sufficiently to permit it. While hanging from
the hand-rail he glanced ahead and saw that which made his heart glad.
The signal-lamp at the station turned a crimson eye toward the train,
and that meant orders, and a few more seconds of precious time.
At the first shrill sigh of the air-brakes, he sprang off and ran beside
the private car, trying to peer into the darkened windows, and taking
all sorts of risks considering the hazard he ran of lighting upon the
wrong one.
But good fortune was with him. Before the smoking wheels had quite
ceased grinding fire out of the brake-shoes, he came to a window with a
tiny corner of a handkerchief fluttering beneath it. It was Gertrude's
signal, and he understood then that he had been keeping tryst on the
wrong side of the car as it stood on the spur-track in Denver. The
window was closed and curtained like the others, but it went up
noiselessly when he tapped on the glass.
Now it was pitchy dark, both within and without, but love has sharpened
senses and eyes which no night has ever yet been black enough to befool.
"Frederick!" said a soft voice from within, and there was joyful
surprise in the single word. Then a hand came out to him, and he
possessed himself of it as one who will keep that which is his.
"God bless you," he whispered; "I hardly dared hope to find you up."
"I wasn't up," said the tender voice, with a touch of sweet shyness in
it; "but I couldn't go to sleep for thinking how disappointed you must
be. How did you find out we were going?"
"By the merest chance; but it's all right now--your father has just been
in to see me."
"Has he? Oh, I hope you didn't quarrel!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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