Ben stood planted, with his four huge feet firmly set, defying any
force in heaven or earth to budge them. His head, despite all the
boys could do, maintained a relaxed attitude--a contradiction in
terms justified by the facts--and also with a certain sidewise
inclination toward the saloon. It was almost as if he were watching
the saloon door. In truth, that is exactly what old Ben was doing.
He was watching for Tim. Ben had good reason for knowing Tim's ways
since, for a considerable time, no one save Tim had deigned to drive
him. Besides having a natural tendency toward being "set in his
ways," Ben had now reached the time of life when one, man or beast,
is likely to become a creature of habit. Thus he had unswervingly
followed Tim's route to Tim's invariable first halt; and now he
stood waiting Tim's reappearance through the saloon door. Other
volunteer assistants, in hordes, hordes, and laughing as if this
awful calamity were a huge joke, had joined Raymond and the Other.
Missy was flamingly aware of them, of their laughter, their stares,
their jocular comments.

But they all achieved nothing; and relief came only when Ben's
supreme faith was rewarded when Tim, who had been spending his
afternoon off in his favourite club, was attracted from his checker-
game in the "back room" by some hubbub in the street and came
inquisitively to the front door.

Ben, then, pricked his ears and showed entire willingness to depart.
Tim, after convincing himself that he wasn't drunk and "seeing
things," climbed up on the "box"; the two girls, "naturally covered
with confusion," were only too glad to sink down unobtrusively into
the back seat. Not till they were at the sanitarium again, did they