He sat down for a moment, only to arise the next and walk to the board announcing the arrival of trains. Almost immediately one pulled into the station. Perceiving a bystander--one of the sort that always give the impression of being well-informed--he inquired casually where it was from. "Chicago," was the ready answer. "Great Scott! Lucky I came early! Grace's idea of time--oh, well, only the small matter of an hour out of the way." Quickly he sprang forward, taking up a good position to watch. First came a man hurriedly and alone. A bunch of people followed him. Hugh peered unsuccessfully here and there among them. Another bunch; she was not in it, and he began to feel a trifle nervous. Now came the stragglers and he grew bewildered. Finally, the last one--a woman hove in sight. With renewed hope he scanned her approach. It was not Grace! His brain was in a whirl. What could have happened? Where was she? Again he jerked out the telegram. "Meet me Forty-second Street, New York, at three," he read half-aloud. "Nothing could be plainer," he mused in perplexity. "No train at three; another at--she must be on a later one." "What time is the next Chicago train due?" he inquired anxiously at the Information Bureau. "Five-thirty, sir," politely answered the official. "Five-thirty!" he repeated disgustedly. Again the telegram was brought out and this time shown. "On what road did you expect the lady?" was the question put with well-simulated interest that every few minutes was practised on different individuals. "Road?" Hugh stared blankly at his questioner. "What road?" Then, like a flash, the solution of the problem pierced his brain. "What an ass I am!" he burst out, and added sheepishly: "West Shore!" Purposely avoiding the other's face for confirmation of his self-depreciatory exclamation, together with its unmistakable expression of professional tolerance for the imbecilities of mankind, Hugh looked at the time. It was two-thirty. Tearing out of the station, he hailed a cab. Inside, and moving fast, he winced a little as he thought of his late strictures on girls and their ways. What a shame to have abused Grace, when he himself had told her to take the Wabash as essential to their plan. What a blooming idiot he was! New York in the telegram meant, of course, the New York side of the river. He recovered his equanimity; the world was serene again. With a sharp pull the cabman brought up at the ferry and Hugh took his stand among those waiting for the boat to disgorge its load of passengers. At that moment a thought struck him, and acting on it, he called out: "Hi! porter!" "Here, sir!" "Where can I get some note paper?" "All right, sir!" and in an instant a pad of paper was forthcoming. Hugh took out his pencil and wrote a brief note. Then, in a low voice, he said: "Here, porter! I want you to do something for me." "Yes, sir!" "I'll make it worth your while, but I won't hare you attending to any one else--understand?"