pique; he had enjoyed the outing in the sparkling
night.

In the gray dawn he again routed out Files's yawning hostler and turned
the equipage over to him.

"Hope you found it a starry night for a ramble," suggested the hostler,
willing to be informed as to why a bank cashier had been gallivanting
around over the country between days, turning in a sweating horse at
break of dawn.

Vaniman allowed that it was a starry night, all right, and left the
topic there, with a period set to it by the snap of his tone.

He went directly to the bank and admitted himself with his keys.

President Britt came from the back room, with yawns that matched those
of the hostler.

"What time did Barnes say he'd be down here from the tavern in the
morning?"

"Mr. Barnes did not come on that train, sir."

"Well, I'll be--" rapped Britt, snapping shut his jaws.

"But I haven't minded the trip--I really enjoyed the ride," insisted the
messenger.

"Don't tell that to Barnes when he shows up to-night on Ike Jones's
stage," commanded Britt. "I propose to have a few words to say about
what it means in the country when a city fathead changes his mind about
the train he'll take." He was looking past the cashier while he talked.
He turned away and picked up his hat and coat from a chair. "I'll be
going along to my house, I reckon. You'd better catch a cat-nap on the
cot. I found it comfortable. I've slept every minute since you've been
gone."

Then Britt hurried out, locking the door behind him.

CHAPTER XII

SOMETHING TO BE EXPLAINED

By noon that day, in the lulls between customers at the wicket,
Vaniman had had a succession of run-ins with the demon of drowsiness--a
particularly mischievous elf, sometimes, in business hours. Whenever he
caught himself snapping back into wakefulness he found Vona's twinkle of
amusement waiting for him.

Once she pointed to the big figures on the day-by-day calendar on the
wall. The date was February 21st. "Console yourself, Frank, dear," she
advised, teasing him. "The bank will be closed to-morrow and you can
make Washington's Birthday your sleep day! But I do hope you can stay
awake at our play this evening."

"The man who invented sleep as a blessing didn't take into account city
brokers who change their minds about trains," he returned. "I hope old
Ike Jones will sing that 'Ring, ting! Foo loo larry, lo day' song of his
all the way coming up from Levant. It'll be about the sort of punish