urs,
put them on as she went down the long aisle, swung down the car steps,
and flew down the platform to the unconscious O'Malley. He was
smoking, all unconscious. The Fates had delivered him into her expert
hands. She knew those kindly sisters of old, and she was the last to
refuse their largesse.

"Mr. O'Malley!"

He wheeled.

"Mrs. McChesney!" He had just a charming trace of a brogue. His
enemies said he assumed it. "Well, who was I thinkin' of but you a
minute ago. What----"

"I'm on my way to Chicago. Saw you from the car window. You're on the
New York train? I thought so. Tell me, you're surely seeing our man,
aren't you?"

O'Malley's smiling face clouded. He was a temperamental Irishman--Ted
O'Malley--with ideas on the deference due him and his great house.

"I'll tell you the truth, Mrs. McChesney. I had a letter from your Mr.
Buck. It wasn't much of a letter to a man like me, representing a
house like Gage & Fosdick. It said both heads of the firm would be out
of town, and would I see the manager. Me--see the manager! Well,
thinks I, if that's how important they think my order, then they'll not
get it--that's all. I've never yet----"

"Dear Mr. O'Malley, please don't be offended. As a McChesney to an
O'Malley, I want to tell you that I've just been married."

"Married! God bless me--to----"

"To T. A. Buck, of course. He's on that train. He----"

She turned toward the train. And as she turned it began to move, ever
so gently. At the same moment there sped toward her, with unbelievable
swiftness, the figure of Sam the porter, his eyes all whites. By one
arm he grasped her, and half carried, half jerked her to the steps of
the moving train, swung her up to the steps like a bundle of rags,
caught the rail by a miracle, and stood, grinning and triumphant,
gazing down at the panting O'Malley, who was running alongside the
train.

"Back in a week. Will you wait for us in New York?" called Emma, her
breath coming fast. She was trembling, too, and laughing.

"Will I wait!" called back the puffing O'Malley, every bit of the Irish
in him beaming from his eyes. "I'll be there when you get back as sure
as your name's McBuck."

From his pocket he took a round, silver Western dollar and, still
running, tossed it to the toothy Sam. That peerless porter caught it,
twirled it, kissed it, bowed, and grinned afresh as the train glided
out of the shed.

Emma, flushed, smiling, flew u