“Was mighty sorry to hear you are still in retirement. Your friend said last evening that you were quite done-up. Now I am forced to leave in a hurry without seeing you. Sent bellhop up to your room and he reports ‘no answer.’ “But, without seeming too bold, will hope that we shall meet again—and that these few flowers will be a reminder of “Faithfully and regretfully yours, “G. KNAPP.” CHAPTER X “HEART DISEASE” After one passes the railroad station at The Beeches, and before reaching the town limits of North Birchland, the traveler sees a gray road following closely the railway tracks, sometimes divided from them by rail-fences, sometimes by a ditch, and sometimes the railway roadbed is high on a bank overlooking the highway. For several miles the road grades downward—not a sharp grade, but a steady one—and so does the railroad. At the foot of the slope the highway keeps straight on over a bridge that spans the deep and boisterous creek; but a fork of the road turns abruptly and crosses the railroad at grade. There is no flagman at this grade crossing, nor is there a drop-gate. Just a “Stop, Look, Listen” sign—two words of which are unnecessary, as some philosopher has pointed out. There had been some serious accidents at this crossing; but thus far the railroad company had found it cheaper to pay court damages than to pay a flagman and the upkeep of a proper gate on both sides of its right-of-way. When they came in sight of the down-hill part of the road Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers knew it was time to begin to put on their wraps and take down their bags. The North Birchland station would soon be in sight. It was Dorothy who first stood up to reach for her bag. As she did so she glanced through the broad window, out upon the highway. “Oh, Tavia!” she gasped. “What’s the matter, dear? You don’t see Garry Knapp, do you? Maybe his buying those flowers—that ‘parting blessing’—‘busted’ him and he’s got to walk home clear to Desert City.” “Don’t be a goose!” half laughed Dorothy. “Look out. See if you see what I see.” “Why, Doro! it’s Joe and Roger I do believe!” “I was sure it was,” returned her friend. “What can those boys be doing now?” “Well, what they are doing seems plain enough,” said Tavia. “What they are going to do is the moot question, my dear. You never know what a boy will do next, or what he did last; you’re only sure of what he is doing just now.” What the young brothers of Dorothy Dale were doing at that moment was easily explained. They were riding down the long slope of the gray road toward North Birchland, racing with the train Dorothy and Tavia were on. The vehicle upon which the boys were riding was a nondescript thing composed of a long plank, four wheels, a steering arrangement of more or less dependence, and a soap box.