Through the side windows of the car the party could be seen distributing themselves over the comfortable seats, laughing and talking in groups.  In the dining-room, the white tablecloth spread for tea, with the china and silver upon it, made a pleasant show.  And now two high officials of the railway came hurrying up, one to shake hands with Lady Merton and see that all was right, the other to accompany the party.

Elizabeth Merton came out in her white dress, and leant over the railing, talking, with smiles, to the official left behind.  He raised his hat, the car moved slowly off, and in the group immediately behind Lady Merton the handsome face and thick fair hair of George Anderson showed conspicuous as long as the special train remained in sight.

The old man raised himself and noiselessly went out upon the platform.  Outside the station he fell in with a younger man, who had been apparently waiting for him; a strong, picturesque fellow, with the skin and countenance of a half-breed.

“Well?” said the younger, impatiently.  “Thought you was goin’ to take a bunk there.”

“Couldn’t get out before.  It’s all right.”

“Don’t care if it is,” said the other sulkily.  “Don’t care a damn button not for you nor anythin’ you’re after!  But you give me my two dollars sharp, and don’t keep me another half-hour waitin’.  That’s what I reckoned for, an’ I’m goin’ to have it.”  He held out his hand.

The old man fumbled slowly in an inner pocket of his filthy overcoat.

“You say the car’s going on to-night?”

“It is, old bloke, and Mr. George Anderson same train—­number ninety-seven—­as ever is.  Car shunted at Calgary to-morrow night.  So none of your nonsense—­fork out!  I had a lot o’ trouble gettin’ you the tip.”

The old man put some silver into his palm with shaking fingers.  The youth, who was a bartender from a small saloon in the neighbourhood of the station, looked at him with contempt.

“Wonder when you was sober last?  Think you’d better clean yourself a bit, or they’ll not let you on the train.”

“Who told you I wanted to go on the train?” said the old man sharply.  “I’m staying at Winnipeg.”

“Oh! you are, are you?” said the other mockingly.  “We shouldn’t cry our eyes out if you was sayin’ good-bye.  Ta-ta!” And with the dollars in his hand, head downwards, he went off like the wind.

The old man waited till the lad was out of sight, then went back into the station and bought an emigrant ticket to Calgary for the night train.  He emerged again, and walked up the main street of Winnipeg, which on this bright afternoon was crowded with people and traffic.  He passed the door of a solicitor’s office, where a small sum of money, the proceeds of a legacy, had been paid him the day before, and he finally made his way into the free library of Winnipeg, and took down a file of the Winnipeg Chronicle.