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 Wade settled with his driver, relinquished his bag to a porter and hurried after.

"What train, sir?"

"Eight-thirty for Quebec."

"This way, sir."

Wade caught sight of a lunch room and a brilliant thought occurred to him.

"Wait a minute," he called, and sprang through the doors. "Sandwiches, about a dozen," he shouted, "fruit—or—cake—anything, only hurry it up! Enough for five persons."

He waited, watching the clock, and the porter waited, watching Wade and the clock alternately. Twenty-three minutes past—twenty-four—twenty-five—twenty-six—

"Here you are, sir, a dollar-eighty."

"All right; keep the rest!" And Wade hurried after the porter again. There was still three minutes to spare as they dashed through the gate. "What car you in, sir?" gasped the porter.

"I don't know; I haven't a ticket; find the Pullman conductor."