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'BUT i'll not be allowing you to telegraph them to
ANY ONE ELSE BUT ME "
His wife paused in her bread-slic. ing, emphasizing her words with the point of the knife on the red-covered table. "Well get it," she cried gallantly. " 'Course we will, Andy McMann. Isn't Honey-Gal going to college on the strength of .that job ? Aren't we going to telegraph a porch on the house and a new roof on the ell? Why, we've just got to get it, that's all. Maybe the letter '11 come this very afternoon. I've got a feeling in my bones. ' '
"It's rheumatism, I'll wager," laughed Andy. "Dont fret, Susie; everything always comes out all right, you know, in the end. And, say, rustle with that grub, will you, old lady; I got t' take the car down the line this afternoon."
"Then Honey-Gal and I'll go with you, far as the station, and watch the noon Eastern come in. " Susie set the
plates down stubbornly and drew up the chairs. ' ' Sit down, dear, and eat. But just you mark my words. Something is going to happen, sure as you know." But her radiant optimism did not warn her just what the something was to be.
The noon Eastern, screaming along the rails an hour later, paused a whiff or two of engine smoke at the tiny, wooden shack of Burton's Bend. As it coughed pompously away again, a bored passenger or two, glancing up from stale novels, caught a glimpse of quivering, rebellious lips and stormy blue eyes. Then Susie thrust the letter hastily into an apron pocket and wiped away visible tokens of disappointment on Honey-Gal's fluff of hair. Andy, chug-chugging laboriously toward them a moment later, along the still vibrant rails, brought his handcar to a stop beside his