telephone.

In the meantime Kemp was having a hard time of it. "Why in the name of
Heaven didn't we get off at Charlottesville," his master was demanding.

"The conductor said this was nearer, sir," Kemp repeated. His response
had the bounding quality of a rubber ball. "If you'll sit here and
make yourself comfortable, Mr. Dalton, I'll see what I can do."

"Oh, it's a beastly hole, Kemp. How can I be comfortable?"

Randy, who had come back from the telephone with a look on his face
which clutched at Major Prime's throat, caught Dalton's complaint.

"It isn't a beastly hole," he said in a ringing voice, "it's God's
country---- I got my mother on the 'phone, Major. She has sent for us
and the horses are on the way."

Dalton looked him over. What a lank and shabby youth he was to carry
in his voice that ring of authority. "What's the answer to our getting
off here?" he asked.

"Depends upon where you are going."

"To Oscar Waterman's----"

"Never heard of him."

"Hamilton Hill," said the station agent.