But Jerry didn’t intend to miss anything, and somehow he and Spider managed to hitch the horse to the wagon――luckily Mr. Lippit had a heavy harness which just suited――and reach the station just as the 2:06 pulled out. Jerry held the reins and Spider sat proudly beside him. Between the gayly-painted shafts ambled Julius Cæsar. Julius Cæsar had been a dappled gray at one time, but now he was almost white. He was short and ridiculously fat and had an absurd way of bobbing his head up and down as he went. Still, as far as appearances were concerned, Julius Cæsar was quite a success, and, hitched to the brilliantly-hued wagon, made a good showing as he ambled and bobbed his way to the platform. Pat Herron viewed the outfit with surprise and chagrin. Later on his gift of repartee returned to him, but for a few minutes he was plainly disconcerted. The Ark was quickly filled, Willard remaining behind to superintend the loading of the baggage, and chugged away uptown. Pat Herron, with a last lingering look at the express wagon, followed after the automobile, and Willard, Jerry and Spider proudly presented the checks and loaded four big sample trunks. That was a triumphant journey uptown, Jerry guiding Julius Cæsar, Willard sitting beside him, and Spider perched on a trunk. The horse was evidently perturbed. Never before had he been hitched to such a vehicle, and, doubtless, never before had he been called on to pull so heavy a load. He resented it and showed it. Every few minutes he turned his head and looked reproachfully at Jerry. Jerry was heartless. “Go on, you old antiquity,” Jerry would bawl, with a flick of the whip. “Think we’ve got all day to do this? Get ap, Cæsar!”