he stood in a painful maze, unable to figure out how he had come by it and what it meant.
"You are looking for a letter," guessed Ralph.
"Yes, I was—'John Fairbanks, Stanley Junction.' How do you know?" with a stare.
"Because I am Ralph Fairbanks, his son. When you first showed it to me"
"Showed it to you?"
"Yes."
"Where?
"At Stanley Junction."
"I never was there."
"I think you were."
"When?"
"About three weeks ago. And you just left there this morning. You was with me on that locomotive that just went ahead, jumped off, and—you had better sit down and let me explain things."
Van looked distressed. He was in repossession of all his faculties, there was no doubt of that, but there was a blank in his life he could never fill out of his own volition. He studied Ralph keenly for a minute or two, sighed desperately, sat down on a bowlder by the side of the road, and said:
"Something's wrong, I can guess that. I had a letter to deliver, and it seems as if it was only a
