“We won’t track up your clean floor, Minnie,” Mrs. Biggs said—­she was a little woman, almost fifty, who’d gone through life convinced she’d only lived so long by the care she took of herself—­“but I thought I’d better come and speak to you.  Please don’t irritate Mr. Biggs to-day.  He’s been reading that article of Upton Sinclair’s about fasting, and hasn’t had a bite to eat since noon yesterday.”

I noticed then that she looked pale.  She was a nervous creature, although she could drink more spring water than any human being I ever saw, except one man, and he was a German.

Well, I promised to be careful.  I’ve seen them fast before, and when a fat man starts to live on his own fat, like a bear, he gets about the same disposition.

Mrs. Biggs started back, but Miss Cobb waited a moment at the foot of the steps.

“Mr. Van Alstyne is back,” she said, “but he came alone.”

“Alone!” I repeated, staring at her in a sort of daze.

“Alone,” she said solemnly, “and I heard him ask for Mr. Carter.  It seems he started for here yesterday.”

But I’d had time to get myself in hand, and if I had a chill up my spine she never knew it.  As she started after Mrs. Biggs I saw Mr. Sam hurrying down the path toward the spring-house, and I knew my joint hadn’t throbbed for nothing.

Mr. Sam came in and slammed the door behind him.

“What’s this about Mr. Dick not being here?” he shouted.

“Well, he isn’t.  That’s all there is to it, Mr. Van Alstyne,” I said calmly.  I am always calm when other people get excited.  For that reason some people think my red hair is a false alarm, but they soon find out.

“But he must be here,” said Mr. Van Alstyne.  “I put him on the train myself yesterday, and waited until it started to be sure he was off.”

“The only way to get Mr. Richard anywhere you want him to go,” I said dryly, “is to have him nailed in a crate and labeled.”

“Damned young scamp!” said Mr. Van Alstyne, although I have a sign in the spring-house, “Profanity not allowed.”

“Exactly what was he doing when you last laid eyes on him?” I asked.

“He was on the train—­”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes.”

“Sitting?”

“No, standing.  What the deuce, Minnie—­”

“Waving out the window to you?”

“Of course not!” exclaimed Mr. Van Alstyne testily.  “He was raising the window for a girl in the next seat.”

“Precisely!” I said.  “Would you know the girl well enough to trace her?”

“That’s ridiculous, you know,” he said trying to be polite.  “Out of a thousand and one things that may have detained him—­”

“Only one thing ever detains Mr. Dick, and that always detains him,” I said solemnly.  “That’s a girl.  You’re a newcomer in the family, Mr. Van Alstyne; you don’t remember the time he went down here to the station to see his Aunt Agnes off to the city, and we found him three weeks later in Oklahoma trying to marry a widow with five children.”