Page:The fighting scrub, (IA fightingscrub00barb).pdf/211

 a bit colder, sir, isn't it? One can do with a coat to-*night, Mister Tom, and I see you have yours with you." Suitcase in hand, Wattles led the way around the end of the station, and it was not until he had started across the track on the farther side that Tom realized what was happening.

"Hold on, Wattles! What's the idea?" he asked, stopping.

"The car's just over here, sir."

"What car? I didn't order any car!"

"No, sir. Mister Loring and Mr. Clif sent it. I was to tell you that everything was quite all right, sir. It's all absolutely sub rosa, Mister Tom. We'll get back to the school by midnight—"

"So that's it?" Tom laughed roughly. "Expect me to go back with you in the car, eh? Well, nothing doing, Wattles. I'm off that dump for keeps. Let's have that bag, please."

"Certainly, sir, but if you wouldn't mind just coming across to the car. I've a robe and you'll be quite warm. Your train doesn't leave for rather more than a half-hour, sir, and I'd like very much to deliver my message, Mister Tom."

"Oh, well, all right," Tom grumbled. "Go ahead. But I'll tell you right here and now, Wattles, that it's no good. It was mighty nice of them to do this, and all that, but I've no idea of going back."

"Quite so, sir. Thank you. Right this way."

The car stood well away from the station, the street lights revealing its black bulk, and the figure of the