identify it. Where'll I find you? Station House? 'Conomy? Sure! I'll
be there soon's I get'im. What's that? I? Oh, I'm just a kid that
happened to get wise. My name? Oh rats! That don't cut any ice now!
You get on yer job! They must be almost there by now. I gotta beat
it! Gub-bye!"

Billy was all there even if he had been up all night. He hung up with a
click, for he was anxious to hear what the men were saying. They had
finished their glasses and were preparing to leave. The old one was
gabbling on in a querrilous gossipy tone:

"Well, it'll go hard with Mark Carter if the man dies. Everybody knows
he was here, and unless he can prove an alibi--!"

They were crawling reluctantly out of their haunts now, and Billy could
catch but one more sentence:

"Well, I'm sorry fer his ma. I used to go to school with Mrs. Carter
when we were kids."

They were gone out and the room suddenly showed empty. The waiter was
fastening the shutters. In a moment more he would be locked in. Billy
made a silent dash among the tables and slid out the door while the
waiter's back was turned. The two men were ambling slowly down the road
toward Economy. Billy started on a dead run. His rubber soled shoes
made no echo and he was too light on his feet to make a thud. He
disappeared into the grayness like a spirit. He had more cause than
ever now for hurry. Mark! Mark! His beloved Mark Carter! What must he
do about it? Must he tell Mark? Or did Mark perhaps know? What had
happened anyway? There had evidently been a shooting. That Cherry