CHAPTER FIVE


TOM ARRIVES AT THE BEECHAM'S

Wednesday dawned in a drizzle of rain. It had seemed to Tom, riding through
the long night on a horse whose legs trembled at every step, that the dawn
would never come; that the world had been conquered by the downpour. At
least it had seemed so until the monotony of the rain and cold deadened his
senses, allowing him to fall into a doze.

He straightened in the saddle, and stretched. A chill seized him, and he
commenced to shiver violently. His clothes were wet and heavy.

"This won't do," he said aloud, with his teeth chattering. At the sound of
his voice the horse pricked up his ears feebly. "Poor fellow! You're just
about ready to drop, aren't you?" He reined in, stroking the horse's
shoulder; then dismounted. For a few seconds he clung to the saddle,
supporting himself; his numbed legs refused to hold him until he brought
them to life by stamping and kicking. Even then he was none too sure of his
step.

"Poor boy!" he said to the horse. "It's been a hard trip for you. Poor boy!
Here, let's take that bit out of your mouth and see if you can find
something to eat. There's not much around here, is there?" The horse
commenced chewing at some weeds which had sprung up along the roadside. Tom