hough he didn't dare breathe it aloud in
these days, he could never see why he was better than his Lord.

Ralph, as master of ceremonies, kept his head and forgot nothing.
When it was time to start, he tapped Claude on the shoulder,
cutting his father short in one of his best stories. Contrary to
custom, the bridal couple were to go to the station
unaccompanied, and they vanished from the head of the table with
only a nod and a smile to the guests. Ralph hurried them into the
light car, where he had already stowed Enid's hand luggage. Only
wizened little Mrs. Royce slipped out from the kitchen to bid
them good-bye.

That evening some bad boys had come out from town and strewn the
road near the mill with dozens of broken glass bottles, after
which they hid in the wild plum bushes to wait for the fun.
Ralph's was the first car out, and though his lights glittered on
this bed of jagged glass, there was no time to stop; the road was
ditched on either side, so he had to drive straight ahead, and
got into Frankfort on flat tires. The express whistled just as he
pulled up at the station. He and Claude caught up the four pieces
of hand luggage and put them in the stateroom. Leaving Enid there
with the bags, the two boys went to the rear platform of the
observation car to talk until the last moment. Ralph checked off
on his fingers the list of things he had promised Claude to
attend to. Claude thanked him feelingly. He felt that without
Ralph he could never have got married at all. They had never been
such good friends as during the last fortnight.

The wheels began to turn. Ralph gripped Claude's hand, ran to the
front of the car and stepped off. As Claude passed him, he stood
waving his handkerchief,--a rather funny figure under the station
lights, in his black clothes and his stiff straw hat, his short
legs well apart, wearing his incurably jaunty air.

The train glided quietly out through the summer darkness, along
the timbered river valley. Claude was alone on the back platform,
smoking a nervous cigar. As they passed the deep cut where Lovely
Creek flowed into the river, he saw the lights of the mill house
flash for a moment in the distance. The night air was still;
heavy with the smell of sweet clover that grew high along the
tracks, and of wild grapevines wet with dew. The conductor came
to ask for the tickets, saying with a wise smile that he had been
hunting for him, as he didn't like to trouble the lady.

Afte