“I’m afraid it will,” the master mechanic admitted gravely. “But there’s nothing else to do. It’s impossible for her to stay here. She’s got to have some one to look after her, and she has no money. God knows I wish we could, but we can’t see any other way than put her in some place like that.” “I thought you would if it turned out bad,” said Marley again, in dead tones. “I figured it out that way when you were gone.” His hands were traveling in an aimless fashion in and out of his pockets. Suddenly he half pulled out an envelope, started, hastily shoved it back, and looked at Regan. “I--I got a letter to post,” he muttered. “Well, supposing you have,” said Regan a little savagely--Regan wasn’t interested in letters just then,--“supposing you have, you needn’t----” But Marley was well across the street. The master mechanic gasped angrily, choked--and went into Mrs. Dahleen’s cottage on his errand. It was wasted breath to talk to Marley anyhow. It didn’t take long for the news to spread around Big Cloud, and for three days they talked about Mrs. Coogan pretty constantly--after that they talked about Marley. The Westbound Limited schedules Big Cloud for 2: 05 in the afternoon, and on the third day after Mrs. Coogan’s return Marley came down the street about half-past one, and crossed the tracks to the shops. Regan was in the fitting-shop when Marley walked in. “I’d like to speak to you,” said Marley, going straight up to the master mechanic. “Well?” grunted Regan, none too cordially. “I’d like you to come over to Mr. Carleton’s office with me.” There was something in Marley’s voice, feverish, impelling, something in his face, that stopped the impatient question that sprang to Regan’s lips. He looked at the ungainly, grotesque figure of the wiper for an instant curiously, then without a word led the way out of the shops. They traversed the yard in silence, climbed the stairs in the station, and entered the super’s room. Marley closed the door and stood with his back against it. Carleton, at his desk, looked from one to the other in surprise. “Hello,” said he. “What’s up?” The master mechanic jerked his thumb at Marley, and appropriated a chair. “He wanted me to come over. I don’t know what for.” Carleton turned inquiringly to the wiper. “What is it?” he demanded. Marley walked slowly across the room until he reached the super’s desk. His face was drawn, and he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “It’s about Mrs. Coogan,” he said jerkily. “Five thousand would be enough, wouldn’t it?” Carleton stared at the man as though he were mad, and Regan hitched his chair suddenly forward. “Will you swear to give it to her if I get it for you?”--Marley’s hand, clenched, was on the desk, and he leaned his body far forward toward the super. There was no flutter of the eyelids now, and his eyes stared into Carleton’s without a flicker. “_Swear it!_” he cried fiercely. Carleton drew back involuntarily.