He saw more of these artists and intellectual lights as he passed through the village and he was guilty of a momentary treason in wondering what on earth they did to justify the homage of Audry Ferris. They seemed a queer lot, to be cited as “worth while” and constructive. Tom wondered what they constructed. One of them who stood in the village square gloried in irreconcilable socks, one green and one red. In one of the shop windows he saw specimens of pottery and outlandish pictures. He supposed these were the things they constructed. He thought that cultured Woodstock was a false alarm. Then he bethought him that Audry knew more than he did about such things. And that he ought to be thankful to know such a girl.... CHAPTER XXXI TIME Tom got a lift to Kingston and here he weakened. He would wait a little before calling at a police station. They would probably be busy just then; he did not tell himself why. He strolled about the hot, parched city, watched the traffic, looked in shop windows. In many of these, newspapers had been spread over the goods to protect them from the merciless sun, and he read the headings of stale news—anything to give him an excuse not to hurry. He paused and looked at churches and public buildings. He watched a man lettering a name on a window. He loitered to examine a Ford tractor outside a hardware store, and he inspected some axes and spades which stood in an empty flour barrel. They spoke of the mountains and reminded him of the fraternal little group up there. He thought of those three, his good friends, lowering the pole into the earth. They would be sitting around eating their lunch by then.... A Ford business car with SHADYSIDE DAIRY printed on it stopped, and an aggressive looking young fellow with red hair swung out of it, hustled into the hardware store and out again. He had a handkerchief tucked in around his neck in deference to the heat. “Where’s the police headquarters?” Tom asked him. “Well, you go down three blocks—jump in, I’m going that way.” “Some heat,” said the young fellow as they rode along the bricked thoroughfare. “If we don’t get some rain pretty soon there’s going to be trouble. _Whew_, but it’s hot. There’s a lot of wells drying up where I come from.” “You belong here?” Tom asked. “Near Catskill.” “You going there?” “Yop.” “I’ll go along if you don’t mind.” The young fellow glanced at Tom rather curiously, which was natural, seeing that he had asked for police headquarters and ended by wanting to go to Catskill. But he did not trouble himself further with the ins and outs of such a matter. “Did you think I was going to give myself up?” Tom laughed. It was a nervous, forced laugh. The young fellow seemed not to care for he only said, “Look at that blamed radiator steam, will you? That’s the worst of a Ford. Puts you in mind of a geyser. Can you beat it?”