eastbound passengers from Portland, drew up at Needley--and Hiram
Higgins, on the platform, stared at a scene never before witnessed in
the history of the town.

It was not one passenger, or two, or three, that alighted--they streamed
in a bewildering fashion from every vestibule of every car. It is true
that the majority got back into the train later, but that did not lessen
the effect any on Mr. Higgins. Mr. Higgins' jaw dropped, and he grabbed
at his chin whiskers for support.

"Merciful daylights!" he breathed heavily. "Now what in the land's sakes
be it all about?" His eyes, following the hurrying passengers, fixed on
the twisted shape of the Flopper, being helped to the platform from the
private car.

"Three cheers for Coogan!" yelled some excitable passenger.

The cheers were given with a will.

"Good luck to you, Coogan!" shouted another--and the crowd took it up
in chorus: "Good luck to you, Coogan!"

"_Coogan!_"--Mr. Higgins' face paled, and he took a firmer grip on his
whiskers. "Now if you ain't gone an' put your fool foot in it, Hiram
Higgins," he said miserably. "If that there's the fellow that you writ
to, you've just laid out to make a plumb fool of the Patriarch, 'cause I
reckon the Almighty knew His own mind when He made a critter like that,
an' didn't calc'late to have His work upsot much this side of the
grave--not even by the Patriarch."