"Sister Theresa told me this morning he was here.
He called on her and Miss Devereux last night. I
haven't seen him myself. I thought possibly I might
run into him in the village. His car's very likely on the
station switch."
"No doubt we shall find him there," I answered easily.
The Annandale station presented an appearance of
unusual gaiety when we reached the main street of the
village. There, to be sure, lay a private car on the
siding, and on the platform was a group of twenty or
more girls, with several of the brown-habited Sisters of
St. Agatha. There was something a little foreign in
the picture; the girls in their bright colors talking
gaily, the Sisters in their somber garb hovering about,
suggesting France or Italy rather than Indiana.
"I came here with the idea that St. Agatha's was a
charity school," I remarked to the chaplain.
"Not a bit of it! Sister Theresa is really a swell, you
know, and her school is hard to get into."
"I'm glad you warned me in time. I had thought of
sending over a sack of flour occasionally, or a few bolts
of calico to help on the good work. You've saved my
life."
"I probably have. I might mention your good intentions
to Sister Theresa."
"Pray don't. If there's any danger of meeting her
on that platform-"
"No; she isn't coming down, I'm sure. But you
ought to know her,-if you will pardon me. And Miss
Devereux is charming,-but really I don't mean to be
annoying."
"Not in the least. But under the circumstances,-
the will and my probationary year,-you can understand-"
"Certainly. A man's affairs are his own, Mr. Glenarm."
We stepped upon the platform. The private car was
on the opposite side of the station and had been
switched into a siding of the east and west road. Pickering
was certainly getting on. The private car, even
more than the yacht, is the symbol of plutocracy, and
gaping rustics were evidently impressed by its grandeur.
As I lounged across the platform with Stoddard, Pickering
came out into the vestibule of his car, followed by
two ladies and an elderly gentleman. They all descended
and began a promenade of the plank walk.
Pickering saw me an instant later and came up hurriedly,
with outstretched hand.
"This is indeed good fortune! We dropped off here
last night rather unexpectedly to rest a hot-box and
should have been picked up by the midnight express for
Chicago; but there was a miscarriage of orders somewhere
and we now have to wait for the nine o'clock, and
it's late. If I'd known how much behind it was I
should have run out to see you. How are things going?"
"As smooth as a whistle! It really isn't so bad when
you face it. And the fact is I'm actually at work."