You see how it is."

The young man opened his mouth to curse once more, and strangely enough
closed it again: Somehow cursing seemed to have lost its force.

"There is just one chance," went on the minister thoughtfully, "that a
young man who was visiting his mother to-day may still be here. I can
call up and find out. He would take you I know."

Almost humbly the great man's son followed the minister back to the
house and listened anxiously while he called a number on the telephone.

"Is that you Mrs. Carter? I'm sorry if I have disturbed you. What? You
hadn't gone to bed yet? Oh, waiting for Mark? Then he isn't there?
That's what I called up for. There is some one here in trouble, needing
to be taken to Monopoly. I was sure Mark would help him out if
possible. Yes, please, if he comes soon, ask him to call me. Just leave
a note for him, can't you? I wouldn't sit up. Mark will take good care
of himself. Yes, of course, that's the mother of it. Well, good-night,
Mrs. Carter."

The young man strode angrily out to the door, muttering--but no words
were distinct. He wanted to be away from the compelling calmness of
those eyes that seemed to search him through. He dashed out the screen
door, letting it slam behind him, and down the steps, intending to
_make_ his car go on at all odds until he reached another town
somewhere. It had gone so far, it could go on a little farther perhaps.
This country parson did not know about cars, how should he?

And then somewhere right on the top step he made a false step and