“You are right; I haven’t very much to do just now,” he admitted.

“Has your strike materialized yet?” she asked.

“No; it isn’t due until midnight.”

“I don’t believe there is going to be any.”

“Don’t you?  I wish I might share your incredulity—­with reason.”

Miss Doty and the others were talking about the curious blending of the moonlight with the masthead electrics, and the two in the shadowed corner of the deep platform were temporarily ignored.  Miss Brewster took advantage of the momentary isolation to say, “Confess that you were a little bit over-wrought this afternoon when you wanted to send us away:  weren’t you?”

“I only hope that the outcome will prove that I was,” he rejoined patiently.

“You still believe there will be trouble?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m afraid you are still overwrought,” she countered lightly.  “Why, the very atmosphere of this beautiful night breathes peace.”

Before he could reply, a man came up to the platform railing, touched his cap, and said, “Is Mr. Lidgerwood here?”

Lidgerwood answered in person, crossing to the railing to hear Judson’s latest report, which was given in hoarse whispers.  Miss Brewster could distinguish no word of it, but she heard Lidgerwood’s reply.  “Tell Benson and Dawson, and say that the engine I ordered had better be sent up at once.”

When Lidgerwood had resumed his chair he was promptly put upon the question rack of Miss Eleanor’s curiosity.

“Was that one of your scouts?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did he come to tell you that there wasn’t going to be any strike?”

“No.”

“How lucidly communicative you are!  Can’t you see that I am fairly stifling with curiosity?”

“I’m sorry, but you shall not have the chance to say that I was overwrought twice in the same half-day.”

“Howard!  Don’t be little and spiteful.  I’ll eat humble pie and call myself hard names, if you insist; only—­gracious goodness! is that engine going to smash into our car?”

The anxious query hinged itself upon the approach of a big, eight-wheeled passenger flyer which was thundering down the yard on the track occupied by the Nadia.  Within half a car-length of collision, the air-brake hissed, the siderods clanked and chattered, and the shuddering monster rolled gently backward to a touch coupling with the president’s car.

Eleanor’s hand was on her cousin’s arm.  “Howard, what does this mean?” she demanded.

“Nothing, just at present; it is merely a precaution.”

“You are not going to take us away from Angels?”

“Not now; not at all, unless your safety demands it.”  Then he rose and spoke to the others.  “I’m sorry to have to shut off your moon-vista with that noisy beast, but it may be necessary to move the car, later on.  Don’t get out of touch with the Nadia, any of you, please.”