The Golden Rule Dollivers (collection)/The End of the Beginning

HE Dollivers were not in their usual buoyant spirits. It was the end of one of those days, apparently possessed of a devil of mischance, when everything had gone wrong. From the moment when the maid, already having delayed breakfast half an hour, accidentally overturned the coffee-pot and drenched Page with its contents, in consequence of which he missed an important appointment at the office on a short and particularly crowded day, to the instant when a tire burst as they were speeding out the Post Road, making them even tardier than they would otherwise have been for the Eldridges' dinner, each of them had struggled with a series of exasperating mishaps. Nor had the tide turned even then, for the guests assembled at the Eldridges' country house, perhaps depressed by the Dollivers' late arrival, were dispirited and dull, and the talk dragged.

But not even the weariness and dejection following a day of adversities and disappointments could wholly deaden the Dollivers' response to the clear October night, when, shortly before eleven o'clock, they set out for New York, their acetylene lamps boring a white tunnel through the darkness ahead and disclosing the smooth, deserted road. Page purposely chose for their return one of the devious and roundabout byways that they loved, instead of following the more frequented route, but every detail of their soothing flight through the night added poignancy to his regret for what he must soon tell Marjorie. For a little while neither spoke. Then he began, dryly:

"Well? Were you deeply impressed with the star guest?"

"Oh, profoundly! If he's as brilliant as the Eldridges say he is, he certainly gave an 'extraordinary exhibition of self-control to-night!"

"He was probably hungry," suggested her husband.

"My dear! Not after the roast! I sat next him and know whereof I speak!"

"It's also possible that the gentleman was bored. I confess I was." "Oh, Page, wasn't it dreary! And poor Mrs. Eldridge was making such efforts to keep the talk up! I tried and tried to think of something amusing, and ended by being even more bromidic than usual. But I've had such an awful day!"

"There are others," he laconically returned. "But let's not hold the Eldridges' lion responsible for the consequences. We weren't emitting many sparks ourselves."

"Oh, I know. It's just that I'm a bad, cross little thing!" She laughed and sighed, and tucked a penitent hand under his arm. "But you're such a dear I can't stay cross long, and, anyway, it's all over now."

"Yes, it's all over now," he echoed, dully, his thoughts reverting again to business.

"And isn't it good to be off alone with the night, and the stars, and each other—and the car! What should we ever do without this blessed little car?"

"We'd hate to give it up now, wouldn't we?" he responded, and congratulated himself upon his success in assuming what seemed to him a very casual tone.

There was a moment of silence, and then Marjorie asked, very quietly:

"Have we got to give it up, dear? Is that it?"

This was precisely what had been in his mind, but with a vague, masculine idea of shielding her he was not willing to admit it so abruptly.

"Is what it?" he counter-questioned, to gain time. "Is that what?"

"Have we got to give up the car?"

"Why—I hope not. What put that into your head?"

"I've known ever since you came home from the office this afternoon that there was something you didn't want me to know. Won't you tell me, dear?"

"Not to-night, love. We've had troubles enough for one day. Let's not dig up any more now. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow."

"I'd so much rather know it now. Page, Don't try to spare me," she added, and he knew from her tone that she was smiling. "You know I can bear almost anything if you'll only let me see it and face it. It's the mysterious, threatening things you try to hide that terrify me."

"I've already told you that I haven't liked the way things have been going since the change," he began, after a moment. "I've thought these new people were—well, not quite straight, and now I know it, and it's pretty clear to me that I can't stand for the things they're going to insist upon."

"So you've resigned?"

"Not yet. But—I'm afraid I must, dear. Immediately." He explained briefly what the situation was, and how his demand that it be remedied had been met, concluding: "And there's only one answer for me to make to that. I must resign."

"Of course you must. Page. I wish you'd done it to-day."

"But do you understand what this may mean, Marjorie? I have no other position in prospect, and good salaries are not going begging. I may have to accept a smaller one than I'm giving up, and I may even have trouble in getting any job at all for a while—perhaps for a long while."

"But it's the only thing—the only square, honest thing to do, isn't it?" she slowly questioned.

"I'm afraid it is, dearest, under the circumstances."

Then there's nothing more to be said, is there? We'll manage somehow. We always do. And whatever we do, we won't grumble."

"You blessing!" exclaimed her husband, with a little break in his voice as he leaned over to kiss her. "That's the worst—and the best—of it! You'll make most of the sacrifices, and do most of the managing, and you'll never grumble! I almost think I'd feel better about it if you would."

"Gr-r-r-r!" growled Marjorie, making a savage noise in her throat. "You don't know what I may do if I'm aroused." Whereupon they both laughed a little and settled down in their seats, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, feeling somehow that the bugbear in their path frowned less portentously. The engine purred, and the smooth road flowed beneath them, and presently Marjorie spoke again, softly:

"I'm sorry I said that about the car, dear. Of course we both like it, but we don't need it the least bit in the world, you know. We can get along perfectly well without it if—if it seems best."

"In fact," supplemented Dolliver, "you're quite sure that it would be good for you to walk more. You feel that you don't get enough exercise and are in danger of getting fat, and that it would be better for us both to take our outings on a second-hand tandem bicycle—you dear fraud! Well, we'll hope it won't come to that! In fact, we'll see to it that it doesn't." Relieved by his confession, and cheered by her sympathy and comprehension, he was already beginning to feel that perhaps some of the sacrifices he had been planning would not be necessary, and that at least they might retain the car. "We may have to live in a boarding-house, but we simply can't give this up."

"Oh yes, we can, dear," said sage little Marjorie. "There isn't anything—not anything at all—that we can't give up and still be quite happy, except each other. And, anyway, we have had good times with this little car, haven't we? We'll never lose those, whatever happens."

"we've never had anything but good times in it," he returned. "Sometimes we've thought it got us into trouble, but as you look back all those things add to the flavor of life, don't they? Like curry and paprika—a little biting in themselves, but appetizing, on the whole." "Even that horrid old Curmudgeon?" she ventured, mischievously.

Page laughed. "Yes, even the Curmudgeon! It took me a long time to see the humor of that situation, because losing that order just then was serious business. But now when I remember how we sympathized with the poor, proud old party we thought he was, and how flat I felt the next morning when he looked across his desk at me and said, '0h, you're young Mr. Dolliver—Mr. Golden Rule Dolliver'—every time I think of that now I laugh!"

"Well, I don't!" said his wife, vindictively. "I've never forgiven him, and I never shall! I don't mind his calling you Golden Rule Dolliver. I think that's rather funny—especially the way it has followed you and stuck to you. But how he could look at you and talk to you, and then believe for a single instant that you'd stoop to a petty trick like that just to get an order—why, Page, it's monstrous! Of course it shows very clearly the sort of unscrupulous person he is himself, or his mind wouldn't work that way—"

Again Page's laughter rang out, interrupting her indignant speech.

"It shows very clearly that he'd been worked a good many times and had grown wary," he told her. "But you may remember that we've been worked a few times ourselves, until we've got so we know every avenue—or pretty nearly every avenue of approach by the petty grafter who wants the free use of a car for a while, and there are certain things that even we no longer do. There's our dear friend Mrs. Cheever, for example—one of 'the snows of yesteryear.'"

"Poor Mrs. Cheever!" Marjorie laughed a little herself at that memory. "How many funny times we had with her! And how systematically she did use us and our car!"

"Until we called a halt," he reminded her. "And those kids of Cole's—they worked us to the limit, and now we look twice at ragged youngsters before we trust 'em, you know."

"Oh, but that really was funny!" Marjorie exclaimed. "And so was the time when poor Mrs. Whitney thought I'd stolen her purse."

"Well, I don't know about that," objected her husband, his tone shadowing. "She was a disagreeable old dame. She should have seen at a glance that you weren't the sort of woman who would—"

"But, my dear! She didn't know what sort of woman I was! How could she? And it did look suspicious, you know." Marjorie chuckled reminiscently. "It certainly did look suspicious!"

"Then when you remember all the other times and people—all the things that have happened to us—you don't wonder that poor old Corbin, with his larger fortune and much larger experience—perhaps a little embittered by more disappointments than we've had, too—you really don't wonder that he keeps a weather-eye out for trickery, do you?"

"Yes, I do—when he keeps it on you!" retorted his wife. "I think he's a distinctly horrid old person!"

Page laughed again, and just then they rounded a curve and saw ahead of them a disabled automobile. A man worked over the engine, and beside him, holding one of the lamps from the car so that he might see, stood a woman dressed in black. As the Dollivers approached the two turned toward them strained, anxious faces.

"Hullo!" said Page. "Here's trouble. Want some help?" he called, drawing up beside them.

"This is past help to-night, unless You've some extra parts," replied the other man, who was evidently English. "The bally pump's broken, and nothing but a new—" "No, no, there's no time for that!" broke in the girl, hurriedly. "We can't wait! Would you—" She turned the rays of her lamp upon the Dollivers. "Oh, madam, you look kind! Would you take us tothe station at Chetneck? It's the last train to-night—there's barely time now—and we must make it!"

"Why, of course!" cried Dolliver, heartily. "Jump in! But your car—?"

"Safe enough here. We can send back for it from the garage near the station," said the man, hastily transferring a suit-case from one car to the other.

"We were going to leave it there, anyway, until we got back," added the girl, as she stepped into the tonneau. "Quick, Tim! There's only just time."

"Quite ready, sir?" Tim heaved another suit-case into the car and sprang in after it. "We've got to make four miles in about six minutes. Can you do it?"

"Sure, we'll do it!" returned Dolliver, and the car leaped forward with a jerk. "Unless something breaks," he added, remembering the many mishaps of the day.

"Even if we miss it there's still the trolley," Marjorie suggested. "There's an all-night service, isn't there? You can get into town that way, if we miss the train."

"No, madam—not in time," the girl replied. "You see, our mother's sick—dying, they say—in Washington, and we're trying to catch the last train from New York. The tram's too slow. Oh, we must make it!"

"We'll do it—if nothing breaks," called Dolliver, as he bent over the wheel, peering ahead.

"What about your car?" asked Marjorie, a moment later. "You won't have time to go to the garage. Shall we tell them to send out for it?"

"No, madam, don't trouble," said the man. "We'll telegraph back, thank you."

"No trouble at all," Mrs. Dolliver pleasantly assured him, "and the sooner that car is brought in, the better. Do they know you at the garage?"

"Oh yes, madam! Everybody about here knows us. We've a little farm up the road a bit."

"A farm? Are you farming people? I thought—" Marjorie stopped short, realizing that they might not care to be told what she herself had just consciously recognized, that theirs was the manner of well-trained servants. "I should have said that you came from the city," she finished, lamely.

"So we do, madam, in a way of speaking," the young woman explained. "We've mostly worked in cities, but the country's always best, isn't it? So we saved up—my brother Tim, here, and me—and got this bit of a farm."

"Poultry farm," interpolated Tim. "That's the reason we've the car, you see."

"Tim bought it at a bargain, second-hand, for delivering the eggs and poultry. We supply nearly every one about here, madam."

"And your name?"

"The name's Cooper, madam."

"Then don't worry about your car. Cooper. We'll have it brought in to-night."

"Thank you, madam."

They were in the outskirts of the little town when they heard a long whistle, and Tim exclaimed:

"That's the train! It's no use, sir! We've missed it!"

"No, we haven't! Not yet!" Dolliver shouted, above the steady honking of the horn. A dog or two barked, once they shot past another car, and later a man yelled at them from the sidewalk.

"You'll get held up for speeding," warned Cooper.

"We'll get you off first!" They swung around a corner and saw the train pulling into the station, two blocks away. "Be ready to jump!"

Marjorie had barely time to express her hope that they would find their mother better and the girl to gasp her thanks when the automobile stopped at the platform and three people leaped out of it. The train had already started when Dolliver pushed the suit-case he carried up beside the panting couple on the steps of the last coach, and stepped back, waving his cap and calling, "Good-by! Good luck!" and the brother and sister were safely off for the city.

"Well, by Jinks, that's one thing that didn't go wrong to-day, anyhow," he remarked, as he rejoined Marjorie, "and for once nothing happened. And here comes the angel of retribution, hot-foot," he added, as a motor-cycle whizzed into view upon the road they had just traversed. "I wonder whether we shall be haled into a night court or merely writ down in the judgment-book? One thing's reasonably certain, and that's a fat fine—but, on the whole, it was worth it."

To their surprise, however, the man on the motor-cycle flung himself from his vehicle and passed them with only a cursory glance and in much haste.

"Oh, vurry well!" Dolliver humorously regarded his retreating back. "If you don't even scent your quarry when you hold it in your hand, so to speak, far be it from me to call attention to its succulence!"

"Perhaps he isn't a policeman at all," Marjorie suggested. "He may be just a plain, ordinary citizen."

In that case, he's a menace to life and property. Nothing short of serving the majesty of the law can justify the use of one of those infernal things," declaimed Page, eying the bicycle with exaggerated disfavor. "You can overtake motor-hogs with 'em, so I suppose there's reason for their existence in the hands of the police, but the man who deliberately inflicts one of those popping devils upon the community without the extenuating excuse of imperative official business is a public nuisance and ought to be dealt with accordingly."

"Oh, well, let him live this time," recommended his wife. The success of their effort to relieve at least a part of the distress of their whilom passengers had dispelled for the moment the last shadow of their own anxieties, and both were in high spirits. "He's young, and life is probably sweet to him, and we've other fish to fry just now."

"Right you are! A Dolliver to the rescue! That must be the garage they meant, in the next block."

As Page stopped the car before the place they sought they heard shouts up the street, and presently a man came into view, running heavily.

"Hey, there, you!" he called, and Page remarked:

"Ah! Justice lags a little, being but poorly caparisoned in these parts, but overtakes us in the end."

"I should say we had come to meet it," she suggested.

"The way of life. We move in circles."

"But in spirals, ascending," she supplemented.

"Possibly. But we never ascend quite enough to escape our beginnings," he reminded her. "At every step we find ourselves confronted by the past."

To which she retorted: "Of course! It serves to mount by."

"I applaud your sentiments. They're neat, if not novel. And it will be interesting to see how far you can climb on this particular fragment of our immediate past." he observed, nodding toward the running man, just then coming into the radius of light from the electric sign over the garage.

"You're the crazy fools that come tearin' down here a minute ago, ain't ye?" this person panted, peering at the car. "Yes, o' course ye be!"

"Well, if we are, your characterization of us isn't so flattering that we care to admit it," said Page, smiling.

"Ye don't have to admit it," testily returned the other. "I'll admit it fer ye. I seen ye, all right! What in Tophet d'ye mean by whoopin' through a town like that. Ain't got no consideration at all for other folks, have ye? Well, we'll learn ye that ye don't own quite ,all the earth yet, even if ye do run an automobile! Why didn't ye stop when I yelled at ye?"

"Oh, was it you who called to us?" Dolliver's tone was pleasantly conversational, and he still smiled.

"Yes, it was, and mebbe ye won't find it so darned funny by the time I'm done with ye! Why didn't ye stop?"

"Why should we? Are you an officer?"

"Well, what d'ye s'pose I been chasin' ye seven blocks fer, if 'twa'n't to arrest ye? Think I run all that ways jest to make yer acquaintance?"

"I'm sorry you had to do that." Page spoke with a certain soothing deference. "You see, it was this way. We came on some neighbors of yours tinkering at a broken-down car, about four miles back here, and when they told us they were trying to make this train in order to get to their dying mother in Washington by to-morrow morning, we picked them up and rushed them through. I suppose we did come through your town at a pretty lively clip, but we had only two minutes in which to make the train, and we took a chance."

"Ye took a chance, all right. Who d'ye say they was?"

"The Coopers. Tim Cooper and his sister."

"Who 're they?"

"Why, you must know Tim Cooper." Dolliver spoke confidently. "He's the Englishman who has a poultry farm up the road a bit. He said everybody knew him."

"He did, did he? Well, I never heard of him, an' I know everybody within fifteen mile o' this place. If ye can't frame up a better one than that ye'd better quit. Now, you dry up and come along—Hullo!" he interrupted himself, as the sound of the motor-cycle was heard from the direction of the station. "That must be Ed Rawson now. I wondered where he was. This is his job, by rights. He's a bicycle policeman. I'm the constable. Hey, there! Ed!" He waved his arm and shouted to the approaching policeman, who had already swerved in toward the halted automobile, however.

Two or three men, attracted by the sound of voices, came out of the garage and stood near the car.

"Hello, John! You got 'em? Good work!" the second officer exclaimed, jumping ofF his machine. "The other two got away on that train, but I think we'll catch 'em at Port Ryerson, I got Jennings on the wire, an' he's layin' for 'em!"

"Layin' fer who?"

"The other two. Have you searched 'em yet?"

"Searched who?" repeated the one called John, in bewilderment. "What fer?"

Rawson turned and stared at him. "Say, what do you think you pinched these people for, anyhow?" he demanded.

"Fer speedin', o' course, same's you would if you'd 'a' been on yer job. Where was ye?" acrimoniously returned the other. "They come skootin' through town about four mile a minute—"

"I bet they did! An' you never noticed who was with 'em, did you?"

"There was only one car, an' this is it," stated the constable, with dignity, "but there was four of 'em in it then."

"Sure there was! An' the other two was that swell English valet o' Farwell's and the parlor-maid, makin' their get-away with most o' Mis' Farwell's jewelry and a lot more stuff."

"What's that?" sharply questioned Dolliver, above the exclamations of the other men.

"That's what!" returned Rawson, with enjoyment. "An' it ain't no good your pretendin' surprise an' astonishment, my young friend, 'cause we've got you cold!"

"But—but surely you don't—you can't think that we—" Marjorie indignantly began, but the young man interrupted her:

"Think nothin'!' I tell you we know! Hobbs, the station agent, saw you rush them two up to the train, and hustle 'em and two suit-cases onto the back platform—an' he said that last suit-case was about all you could swing, too," he added, to Dolliver.

"That's right," Page admitted, "but it never occurred to me that there was anything crooked about it. You see, we came upon that couple—"

"Oh, ho!" the constable cut in. "That's the meanin' o' the flimflam game ye was tryin' to work off on me, is it?" He turned to his fellow-townsmen. "He was tellin' me a fairy story 'bout some folks that he said had a chicken farm up the road a ways—'s if I didn't know every farm fer fifteen mile 'round! He said they had to ketch this train to git to their dyin' mother. Heh!"

"That's what they told me," said Dolliver, "and I had no reason then to doubt it."

"Uh-huh," good-naturedly responded the policeman. "Well, you tell that to the judge when the time comes, an' see what he thinks about it. Just now it's gettin' late, an' I've got other work to do, helpin' to locate your friends, so we'll just move along an' arrange about your lodgin's for the night."

Marjorie gasped, and her husband laid a warm, quiet hand upon hers, while he reasoned persuasively with their captors.

"Now, look here, gentlemen," he said, "this is all a mistake. Those people may have been thieves, but if they were we didn't know it. My name is Dolliver, and I'm connected with James B. Lake & Co. My wife and I have been dining with the Eldridges, out beyond Greenwich—"

"Greenwich! Then how'd you come to be 'way over on the road to FarwelFs?" quickly asked Rawson.

"Because we like that road. It's a little longer, but—"

"Yes, I guess 'tis a 'little longer'!" jeered the constable. "It's jest about all the way 'round Robin Hood's barn. That's a likely story, ain't it? Comin' from Greenwich! Heh!"

"Nevertheless, I repeat"—Dolliver was controlling his temper with difficulty—"we have been dining with Mr. and Mrs. Thomas K. Eldridge, out beyond Greenwich. If you'll call him up by telephone he'll corroborate this. About four miles back, as I have already told you, we found this couple beside a disabled car. They seemed to be in great distress, and naturally, with only six minutes in which to make the train, we didn't stop to question their story. We picked them up and rushed them through, as anybody else would have done under the circumstances."

"That's right, too," commented a man from the garage. "Sounds straight enough."

"Yes, it sounds straight," conceded Rawson, "but it ain't no alibi. The fact remains that they did help them two thieves get away."

"How do you know we did?" Dolliver decided to carry the war into Africa. "How do you know they were thieves? How do you know they weren't just what they said they were? Where did you get your information?"

"Oh, I got my information straight, all right! Don't you worry about that! I happened to be in the telephone office—"

"Oh, ye did! Jest happened to be there! Heh!" snorted the constable, and all the other men laughed. "That makes two that wasn't on their jobs about then!"

"Yep. You an' me, John." Rawson spoke with a dry little drawl. "I just happened in there, and they told me Mr. Farwell 'd been tryin' for ten minutes to get John Ketchum on the 'phone. O' course he wouldn't know that you just happened to be down at Otto's beer saloon playin' politics, John. He thought you'd be home on your job." Again the men laughed. "They said his house had been robbed, an' the valet an' parlor-maid was missin', an' there was automobile tracks leadin' this way, an' he thought they was headin' for this train an' wanted 'em stopped. So I lit out for the stadon, an' Hobbs told me what he just seen, an' after I give him the message for Jennings I chased along after these people—"

"An' they'd 'a' been out o' sight an' sound long 'fore you got 'round to 'em if I hadn't 'a' nabbed 'em while you an' Hobbs was powwowin' down there at the station," put in Ketchum. "I don't talk so much as some folks, mebbe, but when it comes to bein' right on the job, I guess I gin'ally git there, all right!"

"Yes, I believe you was holdin' 'em up for speedin', wasn't you, John?" mildly inquired the policeman.

"That's a good enough charge to hold 'em on until we c'd prove something else," was the stout reply.

"Oh, John's hot stuff, all right," contributed one of the men. "He don't need no motor-cycle. He just goes after speed-breakers afoot, and they fly into his hand."

At this there was more laughter, and Dolliver seized what seemed an auspicious moment.

"The gentleman's right," he said. "It's clear that you're both very alert and efficient officers, but I'm afraid neither of you would have caught us if we hadn't voluntarily stopped at this garage to deliver a message for these people whom you say are thieves. And we'd hardly have done that if we'd been their confederates, should we?"

"What was the message?" asked the man in charge of the garage.

"They wanted you to send out and get their car."

"They did, eh? Didn't happen to mention their names, did they?"

"Yes, the man said his name was Tim Cooper, and that everybody around here knew him."

"Never heard of him. Any of you fellers ever hear of anybody around here named Cooper?"

A negative murmur ran through the group.

"There! You see?" Rawson took up his business again. "It sounds straight, but it don't hold water, an' we're wastin' time—"

"Man alive, I'm not saying that there are any such people in this neighborhood!" Page exclaimed. "Tm only repeating what they told me and what I believed. I'm prepared to give you conclusive proof of my own identity and of my integrity, and if there's anything I can do to help you catch those thieves I'll do it gladly. Here are my cards—my letters—"

"Never mind all that," the policeman interrupted, not uncivilly. "You may be all you say you are, but if you were Tim Murphy and Andy Carnegie and Teddy Roosevelt all rolled into one I wouldn't let you go now until you'd proved it in court. See?"

"You wouldn't let him go! Say, who d'ye think's makin' this arrest, anyhow?" demanded Ketchum.

"Well, you ain't, Johnnie," Rawson told him. "Get that, right away!"

"Well, I'd like to know why I ain't!" the other began, hotly, but Dolliver intervened.

"Now, gentlemen, let's all be reasonable about this," he suggested. "It's as important to us as it is to you that the matter should be cleared up immediately. We'll go with you, cheerfully, to the police station or to any other place you may prefer, while you satisfy yourselves fully as to my identity. But let's not have any more talk of arrest, please. All this misunderstanding is rather frightening my wife."

"Misunderstanding?" Marjorie, who was trembling violently, tried to keep her voice steady, but it shook in spite of her effort. "Is that it? Haven't we been arrested?"

"No, dear, there hasn't been any formal arrest yet, and I hope—"

"There hain't? Well, there is now!" the constable cried, shrilly. "Ye' re under arrest, both o' ye! Understand? I place ye both under arrest— an' I guess that 'll hold ye for a while, Ed Rawson!" he added, vindictively. "Comin' an' snatchin' a man's prisoners right out of his hand!"

"Prisoners! Oh, Page! What—what's going to happen?" Marjorie shrank against her husband, and he put his arm around her. "What are they going to do to us?"

"Steady, girlie! They're not going to do anything to us. We'll get this straightened out presently. Don't worry. But I'm sorry you chose to take that action, Mr. Ketchum," he added.

"Yes, I guess ye be," returned that individual, with satisfaction, "an' ye'll be sorrier 'fore we're done with ye."

"Possibly." Dolliver was rather grim. "But I shall not be as sorry as you will. Just remember that, Mr. Ketchum. However, it's done now, and we're wasting time. Let's move along to the nearest police station and get the formalities over."

"I guess ye'll find the formalities putty bindin' in your case, young man," prophesied the constable, climbing into the tonneau. "Ye may think ye're a putty slick proposition, an' I ain't denyin' ye tell a smooth story, but I seen your sort 'fore you was born, an' 'twouldn't s'prise me none to learn ye was wuth ketchin'. I guess mebbe they're lookin' fer ye in more'n one place. Ye needn't wait 'round no longer, Ed. I'll look after this, an' ye can get back to yer own job o' policin' the highways." "All right," drawled the police officer. "I'll just jog along behind an' see you don't let 'em get away from you again, John."

"Heh! It's putty plain to be seen why there ain't no more arrests fer speedin' through this town," the elder man acridly informed the grinning bystanders. "'Tween superintendin' the telephone office an' buttin' into other folks' business Ed Rawson hain't got no time left fer his regular job. There's a car now," he added, as a persistent honking was heard in the town, "that I bet's runnin' fifty mile an hour, but o' course there hain't nobody 'round to hinder 'em, an' like's not they'll kill somebody." At that instant the lights of a rapidly approaching car came into view from the main street of the town, and he exclaimed: "Look a' there! What'd I tell ye! Fifty mile an hour if it's a foot!"

"Ne' mind, John, it's hummin' right along toward you, same's this one did," remarked one of the men. "He's got 'em tamed so's they run to eat out of his hand, old John has!"

The other car, which contained two men, one of whom was muffled to the ears in an overcoat and had a cap pulled down over his eyes, slowed abruptly, almost abreast of the Dollivers, and the driver, who was young and bareheaded and wore a light overcoat open over his evening dress, called, in an excited tone:

"That you, Rawson?"

"Gee, that's Farwell himself! Go on an' arrest him for speedin', John! Why don't you?" urged the man who had spoken before, in an amused undertone.

Meanwhile, Rawson answered: "Yep. It's me, all right, Mr. Farwell."

"Have you got 'em?" The young man jumped out almost before his car had stopped, and joined Rawson. "Are these the people?"

Apparently the appearance of the Dollivers surprised him, for he paused, looking sharply at them, but before Page could speak—indeed, before the other man had ceased speaking—Ketchum hastily asserted:

"I jest arrested two of 'em, Mr. Farwell. The other two got away, because Ed Rawson—"

"But the stuff! Have you got that?"

"Not yet," Rawson answered, rapidly. "Your people got away with two suit-cases—"

"Yes, yes, I know! Hobbs told me all that over the 'phone, but he said you'd caught some of the gang—said he saw you from the station—"

"Yes, as I was tellin' ye," the constable eagerly cut in again, "Ed Rawson was too busy foolin' 'round that new telephone girl to stop 'em as they come through town, an' I didn't have no motor-cycle to chase 'em with, but I run 'bout half a mile an' caught these two as they was comin' back. I'm jest takin' 'em up to the station-house now to search 'em, an' I shouldn't wonder—"

"Now, just a moment, gentlemen, if you please." Dolliver stepped out of his car, speaking with an accent that commanded instant attention, and approached Farwell, at the same time unbuttoning his coat and disclosing his own evening dress. "Mr. Farwell, I take it from what I have heard that my wife and I have unwittingly been the means of helping the thieves off with your property, for which I'm exceedingly sorry. I'll do anything in my power to help discover and convict them. But we had no idea at the time that they were not just what they said they were—farming people of the neighborhood. We found them beside a broken-down car—"

"Yes, one of my cars," said Farwell.

"Well, we couldn't know that, either. My name is Dolliver—there's my card—"

"Ah, yes, young Mr. Dolliver—Golden Rule Dolliver! I thought I couldn't be mistaken," said a cool voice, and Page looked up, startled, at the man in Farwell's car to see, between the high coat collar which had been thrown open and the peak of the cap now pushed back, the lean, lined, shrewd face of Galen Corbin.

There! What 'd I tell ye!" exulted Ketchum. Didn't I say he'd turn out to be some noted criminal? That story of his was too smooth to be true! I told ye somebody'd reco'nize him!"

"It's Mr. Dolliver's misfortune that his stories frequently seem a little incredible—a lee-tle—too—smooth," Corbin said, stepping out of the car, with what Page had once described as "that wicked, crooked grin of his." "He has slipped on that stone before, I think."

"Nevertheless, Mr. Corbin," the young man returned, with spirit, "however you may have questioned the sincerity of my motives on the occasion of our previous meeting—though I assure you they were just what we said they were then—you will at least be willing, since you remember me, to testify to my identity, to the fact that I hold a responsible position with James B. Lake & Co., and I hope also to the impossibility that my wife and I should be accomplices of the persons who have just robbed Mr. Farwell's house."

"Ye-es," deliberated the old man, with his wry smile, "ye-es, I think Fd be willing to go that far. In fact, gentlemen, you may accept my assurance that Mr. Dolliver's part in this affair, whatever it may have been, has been wholly accidental and in no sense criminal."

Marjorie, who had been leaning forward in the car with tightly clasped hands, breathlessly watching and listening, sank back into her seat with a little sob. "But you hain't heard the story yet," objected the constable. "Why, that feller tries to make out he was comin' from Greenwich 'way round by Farwell's! Jest wait till ye hear—"

"I don't need to hear it, sir." Corbin suddenly took command of the situation and spoke with the voice of authority. "I know Mr. Dolliver. My name is Corbin—Galen Corbin. I'm the president of the D. & G. L Railroad, and Mr. Farwell is my son-in-law. Now, just dismiss Mr. Dolliver from this case entirely. I'll vouch for him." Dropping his decisive tone as abruptly as he had assumed it, he turned to Page with his twisted, sardonic smile, asking, "Do you think Mrs. Dolliver will consent to recognize me?" The other men were as effectually excluded as if he had closed a door upon them.

"I'm sure she'll be glad to, sir!" Page, bare-headed, extended his hand to the old man. "But may I say first how grateful we are to you for this assistance?"

"You needn't be." The tone was almost curt. "Mrs. Dolliver, I once did you and your husband an injustice." "Yes, you did, Mr. Corbin," she frankly replied, between laughter and tears, "but You've certainly atoned for it now."

"I should be glad to think so. Tm not sure one ever atones for an injustice. About the best one can do is to confess one's error and avoid repeating it. I've been intending to confess this one ever since I was convicted of it in my own mind."

"When was that, sir?" Page asked, laughing.

"When one of my son's friends entertained me the other night with some stories he'd heard about you at the club. He said they called you Golden Rule Dolliver."

"They do. But that isn't entirely my fault. You began it."

"I thought that was my tag." Corbin glanced at him with a dry gleam. "I've been meaning to look you up and claim it. It's not the first mistake that has turned out to be a discovery. Not that this is any credit to me. I blundered. But people of your disposition, as I said to you once before, I think, are rare. I wish they weren't. I've been making some inquiries about you, and I wish there were more men of your sort. I've got a place for one right now if I could only find him."

"Do you mean that, sir?" Dolliver caught at the opportunity. "Because I'm looking for a position. I'm going to resign the one I hold to-morrow."

For a moment the old man scrutinized him. Then he asked:

"How'd you like to be purchasing agent for my road?"

"I think I'd like it very much, sir."

"All right. Come in at eleven to-morrow, and we'll talk it over. What's this?"

"This" was the station agent, who ran up from the station to say that the thieves had either managed to escape from the train or else had assumed successful disguises and transferred their booty to confederates, as no trace of them had been found.

"They want a more complete description of them sent down the line," he panted, in conclusion.

"They'll never get them, if they failed at Port Ryerson," said Farwell. "They're a clever pair of devils, and the only chance was to catch them before they got their second wind. However—! Mr. Dolliver, you saw them last. Will you drive down to the station and help us make up that description?"

"I'd be glad to, if I may," said Page, "but—I think we're still under arrest, aren't we?"

"Under arrest!" exclaimed Farwell.

His father-in-law demanded, "What for?"

"Only fer speedin', Mr. Corbin," the constable hastened to assure him. "Ye see, they was goin' a leetle mite too fast—"

"I'll plead guilty to that," Dolliver interposed, as Farwell made an impatient gesture. "We did shatter the speed limit."

"An' as Ed, here, was busy, I stopped 'em fer him," concluded the constable, regarding Farwell with the eyes of an anxious dog.

"Oh, well, forget it!" recommended that gentleman.

"I can't do that, Mr. Farwell. An arrest's an arrest."

"All right. Take the number of his car—and my card." Corbin spoke with brisk impatience. "I'll be responsible for his appearance when you want him. He's in my employ now. Go on, Dolliver. Start your engine. It's all right."

"Oh, dearest, what a beautiful ending to an awful day!" sighed Marjorie, when they started at last through the crisp, starry night for home. "And isn't it funny about Mr. Corbin?"

"Not so much of a curmudgeon now?" smiled Page.

"Yes, but he is! That's the queer part of it. He's decidedly curmudgeony, and yet in spite of it all he's as interesting and human and—well, likable—as he can be, when you know how to take him."

Do you know, Marjoricums," said Dolliver, I've a notion that most people are like that—when you know how to take 'em."