A whistle rang through the roar of the rapid and a fan-shaped beam of
light swung round a bend in the track. Then the locomotive bell began
to toll, and Foster walked past the cars as they rolled into the
station. He found Featherstone putting on a fur coat at a vestibule
door, and gave him a keen glance as he came down the steps. He thought
his comrade looked graver than usual.

"Well," he said, "how did you get on?"

"I'll tell you later. Let's get home, but stop at Cameron's drug store
for a minute."

Foster took his bag and put it in a small American car. He drove
slowly across the bridge and up the main street of the town, because
there was some traffic and light wagons stood in front of the stores.
Then as he turned in towards the sidewalk, ready to pull up, he saw a
man stop and fix his eyes on the car. The fellow did not live at the
Crossing, but visited it now and then, and Foster had met him once when
he called at the sawmill.

"Drive on," said Featherstone, touching his arm.

Although he was somewhat surprised, Foster did as he was told, and when
they had passed a few blocks Featherstone resumed: "I can send down the
prescription to-morrow. That was Daly on the sidewalk and I didn't
want to meet him."

A minute later Foster stopped to avoid a horse that was kicking and
plunging outside a livery stable while a crowd encouraged its driver