ke a glass of ice-water from
the train? A porter is coming and the conductor, too. I will ask for
anything."

He smiled again. "You'll get it, if you do. But what I want most just now
is a glass of that port. Elizabeth," and his glance moved to the other
girl, "where did you put that hamper?"

Elizabeth, followed by the porter, hurried around to the other side of the
automobile to find the basket, and Tisdale moved a few steps away, waiting
to see if he could be of further service.

A passenger with a camera and an alert, inquiring face had come down from
the day coach. He wound the film key and focussed for a closer exposure,
but no one noticed him. At that moment all interest centered on the man
who was hurt. "Well," said the conductor at last, having looked the group
and the situation over, "what's the trouble?"

"Looks like a broken axle, doesn't it? And possibly a broken leg." He
groaned and repeated aggressively: "A broken axle. With the worst of
Snoqualmie Pass before us, and not a garage or a repair shop within fifty
miles."

"You are in a fix, sure. But this train will take you through the Pass to
Ellensburg, and there ought to be a hospital and a garage there. Or--the
westbound passenger, due at this siding in seven minutes"--the conductor
looked at his watch--"could put you back in Seattle at eight-fifteen."

"Make it the westbound; no hospital for me. Telegraph for a drawing-room,
conductor, and notify this station agent to ship the machine on the same
train. And, Elizabeth," he paused to take the drinking-cup she had filled,
"you look up a telephone, or if there isn't a long distance, telegraph
James. Tell him to have a couple of doctors, Hillis and Norton, to meet
the eight-fifteen; and to bring the limousine down with plenty of pillows
and comforters." He drained the cup and dropped it into the open hamper.
"Now, porter," he added, "if you hurry up a cocktail, the right sort,
before that westbound gets here, it means a five to you."

As these various messengers scurried away, the girl who remained picked up
the cup and poured a draught of wine for the lady in the tonneau. "I am so
sorry, but it was the only way. Do you think it is a sprain?" she asked.

"Yes." The older woman took the cup in her left hand. She had a deep,
carrying voice, and she added, looking at the injured wrist: "It's
swelling frightfully, but it saved my face; I might have had just such a
hideous wound as Frederic's. Isn't it