vitation," returned Cavendish. "I was asleep
up-stairs, and failed to hear the bell. Perhaps you gentlemen can tell
me what steps I'd better take in a case like mine."

The three passed out together, following the guidance of Timmons, and
as the sound of their voices subsided into a confused murmur, Westcott
glanced into the face beside him.

"You must be very tired, dear."

"I am tired, Jim," she said, "but I mustn't allow it. I have a big job
on hand. Farriss will want three thousand words of this and he'll want
it to-night so that he can scoop the town."

"Scoop the town?" Westcott repeated.

"Yes, that means my paper gets a story that no other paper gets. And
this Cavendish case is going to be my scoop. Will you walk with me
down to the station?"

Big Jim Westcott nodded silently and took her arm in his and together
they went out into the night.

Each stone, shrub, each dark frowning cliff reminded them of their
meeting, and silently, with their hearts full, they walked along until
a dilapidated box car hove into view, with one oil-lamp still burning,
twinkling evidence that Carson had not retired for the night; and as
they came abreast the door they found him dozing.

"Wake up, Carson," cried Jim, tapping him on the shoulder, "wake up and
get ready to do a big job on the keys. And keep your ears open, too,
old timer, for it's interesting, every word of it--Miss Donovan is
going to tell a story."

Carson rubbed his eyes, sat up, gave ample greeting, got up, lit
another lamp, and tested his wire.

"East wire free as air, Jim," he said. "You can begin that there story
whenever you want."

And so, weary as she was, and with nerves still high-pitched, Stella
Donovan began, slowly at first, until she got the swing of her "lead,"
and then more rapidly; one after another the yellow sheets on which she
wrote were fed past Westcott's critical eyes and into the hands of
Carson, who operated his "bug" like a madman.

An hour went past, an hour and a quarter--Stella Donovan was still
writing. An hour and a half. Westcott saw her face tensing under the
strain, saw it grow wan and white, and, reaching down he gripped the
fingers that clenched the pencil.

"No more, Stella," he said firmly, "you've sent four thousand!"

She looked at him tenderly. "Please, Jim," she begged, "just let me
add one more paragraph. It's the most important one of all."

The miner released her hand and the girl wrote hurrie