Smead drew off his coat, which had a rolling collar of brown fur.
“I should not care to sell it,” said Smead, “but I will trade even for yours.”
“Anything for the good of the old town,” said the obliging Colonel, as they exchanged overcoats.
In a moment each had put on his new coat.
“Here, I don't want your gloves,” said Buckstone, as he drew them out of a side pocket.
I observed that Smead had been feeling the contents of his coat.
“Keep them,” said he. “You shall have all that my coat contained, and I shall claim all that was in yours.”
The train entered the depot at St. Johnstown.
The Colonel and his new secretary followed the crowd to the station platform. Giles, in big boots and patched and threadbare garments, his big beaver hat resting on his ears, with the Colonel's bag in one hand while the other held his gold-headed cane and the leash of the lank and wistful hound, was an epic figure.
I doubt if Colonel Buckstone could have had a more able assistant in the task which lay before him that night, for in his lighter moods the Colonel was a most industrious merrymaker. We saw them buying another dog on the station platform, and presently they started for an inn, with two quarreling dogs and the bag and the gold-headed cane and the beaver hat, all in the possession of the faithful Giles.
“I have secured the letters,” said Smead. “As I suspected, they were in a pocket of this overcoat, and we can return to Griggsby by the midnight train; you must never tell what you know of this--not a word, not a syllable. He will land in New York in a day or two--always points that way when he's drinking--and will not think of the letter for weeks, anyhow. Tell Florence to write to her father and explain the Colonel's rage. That will take the edge off his razor.”
I promised, and we were soon riding back to Griggsby. It was a sleepless but a happy and wonderful night for me and Mr. Smead.
Early in the morning he went to the dormitory with a note that I had written to Florence. When I met her she took my hand, but did not speak. I knew why. For a long minute we walked together in silence; then she said, rather brokenly: “Havelock, you are the most wonderful boy that I ever met, and I owe you everything. What _can_ I do for?”