"I thought you would if it turned out bad," said Marley again, in dead tones. "I figured it out that way when you were gone." His hands were traveling in an aimless fashion in and out of his pockets. Suddenly he half pulled out an envelope, started, hastily shoved it back, and looked at Regan. "I—I got a letter to post," he muttered.
"Well, supposing you have," said Regan a little savagely—Regan wasn't interested in letters just then,—"supposing you have, you needn't"
But Marley was well across the street.
The master mechanic gasped angrily, choked—and went into Mrs. Dahleen's cottage on his errand. It was wasted breath to talk to Marley anyhow.
It didn't take long for the news to spread around Big Cloud, and for three days they talked about Mrs. Coogan pretty constantly—after that they talked about Marley.
The Westbound Limited schedules Big Cloud for 2:05 in the afternoon, and on the third day after Mrs. Coogan's return Marley came down the street about half-past one, and crossed the tracks to the shops. Regan was in the fitting-shop when Marley walked in.
"I'd like to speak to you," said Marley, going straight up to the master mechanic.
"Well?" grunted Regan, none too cordially
"I'd like you to come over to Mr. Carleton's office with me."
There was something in Marley's voice, feverish, impelling, something in his face, that stopped the impatient question that sprang to Regan's lips. He
