CHAPTER II

The young man sat on one side of the saloon and Mr. John P. Dunster
on the other. Although both of them were provided with a certain
amount of railway literature, neither of them made any pretence at
reading. The older man, with his feet upon the opposite seat and
his arms folded, was looking pensively through the rain-splashed
window-pane into the impenetrable darkness. The young man, although
he could not ignore his companion's unsociable instincts, was
fidgety.

"There will be some floods out to-morrow," he remarked.

Mr. Dunster turned his head and looked across the saloon. There
was something in the deliberate manner of his doing so, and his
hesitation before he spoke, which seemed intended to further impress
upon the young man the fact that he was not disposed for conversation.

"Very likely," was his sole reply.

Gerald Fentolin sighed as though he regretted his companion's
taciturnity and a few minutes later strolled to the farther end of
the saloon. He spent some time trying to peer through the streaming
window into the darkness. He chatted for a few minutes with the
guard, who was, however, in a bad temper at having had to turn out
and who found little to say. Then he took one of his golf clubs
from the bag and indulged in several half swings. Finally he