“For the past six months Downs has tried hard to be decent, and has succeeded some; and this was to be the supreme test.  For six months his wife has been saving up to send him to Omaha to buy things for Christmas.  If he could do that, she argued, and come back sober, he’d be stronger to begin the New Year.  Of course they looked to me to keep him on the rail, and I did.  I shadowed him from shop to shop until he bought all the toys and some little trinkets for his wife.  Always I found he had paid and ordered the things to be sent to the express office marked to me.

“Well, finally I followed him to a clothing store, where, according to a promise made to his wife, he bought an overcoat, the first he had felt on his back for years.  This he put on, of course, for it is cold in Omaha to-day; and I left him and slipped away to grab a few hours’ sleep.

“When I woke I went out to look for him, but could not find him, though I tried hard, and came to my car without supper.  I found his coat, however, hung up in a saloon, and redeemed it, hoping still to find Charley before train time.  I watched for him until we were signalled out, and then went back and looked through the train, but failed to find him.

“Of course I am sorry for Charley,” the messenger went on after a pause, “but more so for the poor little woman.  She’s worked and worked, and saved and saved, and hoped and dreamed, until she actually believed he’d been cured and that the sun would shine in her life again.  Why, the neighbors have been talking across the back fence about how well Mrs. Downs was looking.  My wife declared she heard her laugh the other day clear over to our house.  Half the town knew about her dream.  The women folks have been carrying work to her and then going over and helping her do it as a sort of surprise party.  And now it’s all off.  To-morrow will be Christmas; and he’ll be in jail, his wife in despair, and I in disgrace.  Charley Downs a thief—­in jail!  It’ll just break her heart!”

The whistle proclaimed a stop, and the Superintendent swung out with a lump in his throat.  This was an important station, and the last one before Loneville.  Without looking to the right or left, the Superintendent walked straight to the telegraph office and sent the following message to the agent at the place where Downs had been ditched:—­

“Turn that fellow loose and send him to Loneville on three—­all
a joke.

“W.C.V., Superintendent.”

In a little while the train was rattling over the road again; and when the engine screamed for Loneville, the Superintendent stood up and looked at the messenger.

“What’ll I tell her?” the latter asked.

“Well, he got left at Cactus sure enough, didn’t he?  If that doesn’t satisfy her, tell her that he may get over on No. 3.”