"There aren't any buts. That'll do, Judah. Go for'ard." So Mr. Cahoon, obeying orders, went for'ard; that is, he went into the kitchen, and Sears Kendrick was left upon the seat beneath the locust tree to smoke and cast rebellious glances at the deepening gloom of the sky. He had not been entirely truthful in his replies to his landlord's questions. Although he scarcely dared admit it, even to himself, his damaged legs were better than they had been. Doctor Sheldon told him that they were and seemed more hopeful after each examination. And he knew that the doctor's hope was not mere pretending, something assumed but not felt. Yes, he knew it. And, for the first time since the accident which wrecked the Old Colony train and his own life, he began to think that, perhaps--some day, perhaps--he might again be a man, a whole, able-bodied man among men. When he submitted this thought to the cold light of reason, it was transparent and faint enough, but it was there, and it was one cause of his high spirits. And there was another, a cause which was even less worthy of reason--which was perfectly childish and absurd but not the less real on that account. It was connected with his stubborn determination to be his own pilot to the hall that evening. He had, when he first determined to risk the trip in that way, refused to permit Judah to accompany him because he knew, if he did, that the latter would be a sort of safety valve, a life preserver--to mix similes--the real driver who would be on hand to take charge if necessary. Under such circumstances his own responsibility ceased to be a responsibility and his self-reliance _nil_. No, sink or swim, survive or perish, he would make the voyage alone. So, although there was plenty of room on the buggy seat, he stubbornly refused to permit Judah to sit there. Mr. Cahoon was going to the play, of course--the entire constabulary force of Ostable County could not have prevented his doing so--but he was to walk, not ride behind the Foam Flake. And Captain Sears Kendrick was supposed to be riding alone. Yet he was not to ride alone, although only one person, and that not Judah Cahoon, knew of that fact. The day before, while he and Miss Berry were busy, as usual, with the finances and managerial duties of the Fair Harbor, she had happened to mention that there were some stage properties, bits of costumes, and the like, which must be gotten early to the hall on the evening of the performance and he had offered to have Judah deliver them for her. Now he told her of his intention of driving the Foam Flake unassisted and that he would deliver them himself. "Or any other light dunnage you might want taken down there," he added. "Glad to, no trouble at all." She looked at him rather oddly he thought. "You are going all alone?" she asked. "Um-hm. All alone. I'm goin' to have my own way this time in spite of the Old Harry--and the doctor--and Judah." "And you are sure there will be plenty of room?"