They stayed in the waiting-room, the object of deep suspicion on the part of the station policeman, who, fortunately, was not the officer who had ordered them away from the little shed, until the eleven-twelve express had pulled out. Then, when the baggage-man went through and put out most of the lights and the ticket seller closed and locked the door of his office and started for home, they exchanged the warmth of the waiting-room for the chill of outdoors and sleepily sought a place to spend the rest of the night. It wasn’t difficult. An empty box car on a sidetrack invited them with a half-opened door and they clambered in, closed the door behind them, and settled in a corner, drawing the horse blanket which June had carried around with him all evening over their tired bodies. They lay awake for a good while, talking, planning, wondering about Sam. At intervals an engine would roll past with clanking wheels, sometimes throwing red gleams from the open door of its fire box through the cracks of the box car. Later an express thundered by, shaking the earth. But that was after they had fallen asleep, and the roar only half awakened Wayne and disturbed June not a particle. They awoke late the next morning, stiff-limbed but rested, and dropped from the car and went back to the station for a wash-up. Then came hot coffee and fried eggs and rolls at the lunch-wagon, but no reunion with Sam, for Denny explained that he had taken Sam home with him and that he was at that moment tied to a leg of the kitchen table. “He howled a good deal during the night,” said Denny philosophically, “but I guess he didn’t keep anyone awake. He seemed a bit easier in his mind this morning, though, and the missis gave him a good breakfast and when I left he was licking the baby’s face. I guess he’s going to be all right in a day or two, but if the kid gets fond of him and I get fond of him----” Denny shook his head. “You haven’t changed your mind about selling him, have you?” Wayne said no, and the proprietor of the lunch-wagon sighed. “Well, I was only thinking maybe that would make it a lot easier for all hands. But I won’t be urging you, kid. He’s a nice little dog and he sure is fond of you. Any time you want to see him you go around to the house and tell the missis who you are, see? No. 28 Grove Street’s the place. Ring the second bell. Well, so long, fellers. Good luck!” Perhaps it was Denny’s wish that influenced Fortune that day, for when the two met at noon June proudly displayed two quarters and Wayne was happy over the possibility of securing work in a livery stable. “He said I was to come back in the morning,” explained Wayne as they sought the little lunch-room that they had patronised the previous day. “I reckon he means to take me, June. Wouldn’t that be great?” “It surely would, Mas’ Wayne. What-all he want you to do?” “Drive a carriage, one of the closed carriages that take passengers from the station. That’s something I can do, June, drive!”