The Purple Parasol

of a gray suit, a sailorhat, and a purple parasol if they were tucked away in the berth. At eleveno'clock he was pacing the little depot platform, waiting for theeleven-ten train, the last he was to inspect for the night. He had eatena scanty meal at the restaurant nearby, and was still mad about it. Thestation agent slept soundly at his post, and all the rest of the town hadgone to bed.

  The train pulled in and out again, leaving him at the far end of theplatform, mopping his harassed brow. He had visited the chair-cars and hadseen no one answering the description. A half-dozen passengers huddled offand wandered away in the darkness.

  "I'll bet my head she's in one of those sleepers," he groaned, as hewatched the lights on the rear coach fade away into the night. "It's alloff till to-morrow, that's settled. My only hope is that she reallystopped in Albany. There's a train through here at three in the morning;but I'm not detective enough to unravel the mystery of any woman's berth.Now, where the deuce am _I_ to sleep?"

  As he looked about dismally, disconsolately, his hands deep in hispockets, his straw hat pulled low over his sleepy eyes, the station agentcame up to him with a knowing grin on his face.

  "'Scuse me, boss, but she's come," he said, winking.

  "She? Who?"

  "Her. The young lady. Sure! She's lookin' fer you over in thewaitin'-room. You mus' 'a' missed her when she got off--thought shewasn't comin' up till to-morrer. Mus' 'a' changed her mind. That'sa woming all over, ain't it?"

  Rossiter felt himself turn hot and cold. His head began to whirl and hiscourage went fluttering away. Here was a queer complication. The quarryhunting for the sleuth, instead of the reverse. He fanned himself with hishat for one brief, uncertain moment, dazed beyond belief. Then heresolutely strode over to face the situation, trusting to luck to keep himfrom blundering his game into her hands. Just as he was about to put hisfoot upon the lamp-lit door-sill the solution struck him like a blow. Shewas expecting Havens to meet her!

  There was but one woman in the room, and she was approaching the doorwith evident impatience as he entered. Both stopped short, she with a lookof surprise, which changed to annoyance and then crept into an nervous,apologetic little smile; he with an unsuppressed ejaculation. She wore agray skirt, a white waist, and a sailor hat, and she was surpassingly goodto look at even in the trying light from the overhead lamp. Instinctivelyhis eye swept over her. She carried on her arm the light gray jacket, andin one hand was the tightly rolled parasol of--he impertinently craned hisneck to see--of purple! Mr. Rossiter was face to face with the woman hewas to dog for a month, and he was flabbergasted. Even as he stopped,puzzled, before her, contemplating retreat, she spoke to him.

  "Did that man send you to me?" she asked nervously, looking through thedoor beyond and then through a window at his right, quite puzzled, hecould see.

  "He did, and I was sure he was mistaken. I knew of no one in thisGod-forsaken place who could be asking for me," said he, collecting hiswits carefully and herding them into that one sentence. "But perhaps Ican help you. Will you tell me whom I am to look for?"

  "It is strange he is not here," she said a little breathlessly. "I wiredhim just what train to expect me on."

  "Your husband?" ventured he admirably.

  "Oh, dear, no!" said she quickly.

  "I wish she'd wired me what train to expect her on," thought he grimly."She doesn't know me. That's good. She was expecting Havens and he'smissed connections somehow," shot rapidly through his brain. At the sametime he was thinking of her as the prettiest woman he had seen in all hislife. Then aloud: "I'll look on the platform. Maybe he's lost in thisgreat city. What name shall I call out?"

  "Please don't call very loudly. You'll wake the dead," she said, with apathetic smile. "It's awfully good of you. He may come at any minute, youknow. His name is--is"--she hesitated for a second, and then went ondeterminedly--"Dudley. Tall, dark man. I don't know how I shall thank you.It's so very awkward."

  Rossiter darted from her glorious but perplexed presence. He had neverseen Havens, but he was sure he could recognize an actor if he saw him inFossingford. And he would call him Dudley, too. It would be wise. Thesearch was fruitless. The only tall, dark object he saw was the mailcraneat the edge of the platform, but he facetiously asked if its name wasDudley. Receiving no answer, he turned back to cast additional woe intothe heart of the pretty intriguer. She was standing in the door, despairin her eyes. Somehow he was pleased because he had not found the wretch.She was so fair to look upon and so appealing in her distress.

  "You couldn't find him? What am I to do? Oh, isn't it awful? He promisedto be here."

  "Perhaps he's at a hotel."

  "In Fossingford?" in deep disgust. "There's no hotel here. He was todrive me to the home of a friend out in the country." Rossiter leanedagainst the wall suddenly. There was a long silence. He could not find histongue, but his eyes were burning deep into the plaintive blue ones thatlooked up into his face.

  "I'll ask the agent," he said at last.

  "Ask him what?" she cried anxiously.

  "If he's been here. No, I'll ask if there's a place where you can sleepto-night. Mr. Dudley will surely turn up to-morrow."

  "But I couldn't sleep a wink. I feel like crying my eyes out," she wailed.

  "Don't do that!" exclaimed he, in alarm. "I'll take another look outside."

  "Please don't. He is not here. Will you please tell me what I am todo?"--very much as if it was his business to provide for her in the hourof need.

  Rossiter promptly awoke the agent and asked him where a room could beprocured for the lady. Doxie's boarding-house was the only place,according to the agent, and it was full to overflowing. Besides, theywould not "take in" strange women.

  "She can sleep here in the waiting-room," suggested the agent. "They'lllet you sleep in the parlor over at Doxie's, mister--maybe."

  Rossiter did not have the heart to tell her all that the agent said. Hemerely announced that there was no hotel except the depot waiting-room.

  "By the way, does Mr. Dudley live out in the country?" he askedinsidiously. She flushed and then looked at him narrowly.

  "No. He's visiting his uncle up here."

  "Funny he missed you."

  "It's terribly annoying," she said coldly. Then she walked away from himas if suddenly conscious that she should not be conversing with agood-looking stranger at such a time and place and under such peculiarcircumstances. He withdrew to the platform and his own reflections.

  "He's an infernal cad for not meeting her," he found himself saying, herpretty, distressed face still before him. "I don't care a rap whethershe's doing right or wrong--she's game. Still, she's a blamed little foolto be travelling up here on such an outlandish train. So he's visiting anuncle, eh? Then the chances are they're not going to Eagle Nest. Lucky Iwaited here--I'd have lost them entirely if I'd gone back to Albany. Butwhere the deuce is she to sleep till morn--" He heard rapid footstepsbehind him and turned to distinguish Mrs. Wharton as she approached dimlybut gracefully. The air seemed full of her.

  "Oh, Mr.--Mr.--" she was saying eagerly.

  "Rollins."

  "Isn't there a later train, Mr. Rollins?"

  "I'll ask the agent."

  "There's the flyer at three-thirty A. M.," responded the sleepy agent aminute later.

  "I'll just sit up and wait for it," she said coolly. "He has got thetrains confused."

  "Good heavens! Till three-thirty?"

  "But my dear Mr. Rollins, you won't be obliged to sit up, you know.You're not expecting any one, are you?"

  "N-no, of course not."

  "By the way, why _are_ you staying up?" He was sure he detectedalarm in the question. She was suspecting him!

  "I have nowhere to go, Miss--Mrs.--er--" She merely smiled and he saidsomething under his breath. "I'm waiting for the eight o'clock train."

  "How lovely! What time will the three-thirty train get here, agent?"

  "At half-past three, I reckon. But she don't stop here!"

  "Oh, goodness! C
an't you flag it--her, I mean?"

  "What's the use?" asked Rossiter. "He's not coming on it, is he?"

  "That's so. He's coming in a buggy. You needn't mind flagging her, agent."

  "Well, say, I'd like to lock up the place," grumbled the agent. "There'sno more trains to-night but