s will miss her. Have they called up?"

"I 'phoned Miss Isobel that she was all right and she'd telephone in the
morning. All right! Good God, Rose, can't we do something?"

"If I could get Harold Phipps's address I'd send him a telegram that
would scare the wits out of him."

Quin brushed the suggestion aside. "It's no use wasting time on him;
we've got to reach her."

"But how can we? Let me think. Do you suppose I could send her a telegram
to be delivered on the train? _Anything_ that would make her wait until
somebody could get to her."

"I'll get to her," Quin cried. "I'll search every hotel in Chicago. You
send the telegram and I'll start on the next train."

A hurried consultation of time-tables showed that a Pennsylvania train
left in ten minutes, and was due in Chicago the next morning at
seven-thirty.

"You can't make that," said Rose, but even as she spoke Quin was rushing
for the door.

"Have you got enough money?" she called after him.

His meteor flight was checked. Ramming his hands in his pockets, he
pulled out a handful of silver.

"Wait!" cried Rose, speeding up to her room and returning with a small
roll of bills. "It's what's left of Nell's check. Good-by--I'll send the
telegram."

Ten minutes later, as the night express for Chicago pulled out of the
station, the bystanders were amused by the sight of a bare-headed young
man dashing madly through the gate and across the railroad tracks. The
train had not yet got under way, but its speed was increasing and the
runner's chances lessened every moment.

"He'll never catch it," said the gate-keeper. "He'd lost his wind before
he got here."

"He ain't lost his nerve," said a negro porter, craning his neck in
lively interest. "He's lettin' hisself go lak a Derby-winner on de home
stretch!"

"Has he give up?" asked the gate-keeper, turning aside to stamp a ticket.

"Not him. He's bound to ketch dat train ef it busts a hamstring. He's
done got holt de rear platform! He's pullin' hisself up! There! I tole
you so! I knowed he was the kind of fellow that gits what he goes after."

Quin caught the train, but he paid for his run. A brakeman found him
collapsed on the platform, in such a paroxysm of coughing that the train
had covered many miles before he was sufficiently recovered to go inside
and take a seat. But, even as he leaned back limp and exhausted, he was
conscious of a dull satisfaction that he was traveling toward Eleanor. He
refuse