"You'd ought to make Carcasonne House by midnight," said the proprietor. "Put your feet up on that there stove." "Heavens!" exclaimed the lady. "And if we don't make it by midnight?" "We will by one or two o'clock." The lady became very grave. "Of course," she said, "it can't be helped. But it would be ever so much nicer if we could get in before midnight." "I take your point, Ma'am," said Saterlee. "Before midnight is just a buggy ride--after midnight means being out all night together. I feel for you, Ma'am, but I'm dinged if I see how we can help ourselves. It's five now." He counted on his fingers: "six--seven--eight--nine--ten--'leven--twelve--seven hours--seven into forty--five and five-sevenths.... Ma'am," he said, "I can promise nothing. It's all up to the horse." "Of course," said the lady, "it doesn't really matter. But," and she spoke a little bitterly, "several times in my life my actions and my motives have been open to misconstruction, and they have been misconstrued. I have suffered, sir, much." "Well, Ma'am," said Saterlee, "my reputation as a married man and a father of many children is mixed up in this, too. If we are in late--or out late rather--and there's any talk--I guess I can quiet some of it. I rather guess I can." He rose to his feet, a vast, round, deep man, glowing with health and energy. "I once quieted a bull, Ma'am," said he, "by the horns. I would a held him till help came if one of the horns hadn't come off, and he ran away." The proprietor entered the conversation with an insinuating wedge of a voice. "I don't like to mind other folks' business," he said, "but if the lady is fretting about bein' out all night with a total stranger, I feel it my dooty to remark that in Grub City there is a justice of the peace." He bowed and made a gesture which either indicated his whole person, or that smug and bulging portion of it to which the gesture was more directly applied. Saterlee and the lady did not look at each other and laugh. They were painfully embarrassed. "Nothing like a sound splice," suggested the Justice, still hopeful of being helpful. "Failing that, you've a long row to hoe, and I suggest a life saver for the gent and a nip o' the same for the lady. I'd like you to see the bar," he added. "Mine is the show place of this here city--mirrors--peacock feathers--Ariadne in the nood--cash register--and everything hunky-dunk." "We'll go you," said Saterlee. "At any rate, I will." "Oh, I must see, too," said the lady, and both were relieved at the turn which the conversation had taken. The proprietor removed the cheese-cloth fly protector from the two-by-three mirror over the bar, slipped a white jacket over his blue shirt, and rubbed his hands together invitingly, as if washing them. "What's your pleasure, gents?" said he. As the lady approached the bar she stumbled. Saterlee caught her by the elbow.