I went out on the platform to wish them good-morning, arriving just in time to see Lord Ralles help Miss Cullen out of her saddle; and the way he did it, and the way he continued to hold her hand after she was down, while he said something to her, made me grit my teeth and look the other way.  None of the riders had seen me, so I slipped into my car and went back to work.  Fred came in presently to see if I was up yet, and to ask me to lunch, but I felt so miserable and down-hearted that I made an excuse of my late breakfast for not joining them.

After luncheon the party in the other special all came out and walked up and down the platform, the sound of their voices and laughter only making me feel the bluer.  Before long I heard a rap on one of my windows, and there was Miss Cullen peering in at me.  The moment I looked up, she called—­

“Won’t you make one of us, Mr. Misanthrope?”

I called myself all sorts of a fool, but out I went as eagerly as if there had been some hope.  Miss Cullen began to tease me over my sudden access of energy, declaring that she was sure it was a pose for their benefit, or else due to a guilty conscience over having slept so late.

“I hoped you would ride with us, though perhaps it wouldn’t have paid you.  Apparently there is nothing to see in Ash Fork.”

“There is something that may interest you all,” I suggested, pointing to a special that had been dropped off No. 2 that morning.

“What is it?” asked Madge.

“It’s a G.S. special,” I said, “and Mr. Camp and Mr. Baldwin and two G.S. officials came in on it.”

“What do you think he’d give for those letters?” laughed Fred.

“If they were worth so much to you, I suppose they can’t be worth any less to the G.S.,” I replied.

“Fortunately, there is no way that he can learn where they are,” said Mr. Cullen.

“Don’t let’s stand still,” cried Miss Cullen.  “Mr. Gordon, I’ll run you a race to the end of the platform.”  She said this only after getting a big lead, and she got there about eight inches ahead of me, which pleased her mightily.  “It takes men so long to get started,” was the way she explained her victory.  Then she walked me beyond the end of the boarding to explain the working of a switch to her.  That it was only a pretext she proved to me the moment I had relocked the bar, by saying—­

“Mr. Gordon, may I ask you a question?”

“Certainly,” I assented.

“It is one I should ask papa or Fred, but I am afraid they might not tell me the truth.  You will, won’t you?” she begged, very earnestly.

“I will,” I promised.

“Supposing,” she continued, “that it became known that you have those letters?  Would it do our side any harm?”

I thought for a moment, and then shook my head.  “No new proxies could arrive here in time for the election,” I said, “and the ones I have will not be voted.”