There was the usual early morning confusion in the aisle of the Ariadne when Brockway picked his way forward to section three over a litter of opened hand-bags, lately polished shoes, and unshod feet. He found the Burton section empty, with the porter putting the finishing touches to his morning's work of scene-shifting.

"Yes, sah; de gemman's in de washroom, an' de lady——"

"Is right here," said a voice at Brockway's elbow. "Good-morning, Mr. Frederick; how do you find yourself—or aren't you lost?"

The forty-minute lock-out had left scant time for preliminaries, and Brockway left off the preamble.

"I'm not lost, but I'm going to be if you and John don't help me out. Will you do it?"

"Sight unseen." The little lady was eying her shoes wistfully and hoping that Brockway would be brief.

"I thought I could count on you. What is your programme for to-day?"

"For John, business, I suppose; for myself, a carriage, a handy card-case, and any number of 'how do you dos' and 'good-byes.' Why?"

"I want you both to give me the day, out and out. Listen, and don't say no till you've heard me through."

"Go on, but don't let it lap over into Denver; we're 'most there."

Brockway stated his case briefly. "It's probably the last chance I'll ever have to see her," he concluded.

"Why should you want to see her when there is nothing to be done, as you say?"

"I don't know that—but I do, and you must help me. Will you?"

"Help you carry on a brazen flirtation with that poor, innocent girl? Never! But if John says he'll go, I suppose I can't help myself"—resignedly.

"Thank you; I knew you wouldn't be cruel. And if John should happen to balk a little——"

"Why, I'll talk him over, of course; is that what you want?"

"That's it exactly. Thank you some more."

"Don't mention it. Is that all?"

"Y—yes, all but one little trifle of detail. Have you told John about my—my lunacy?"

"No."

"Then don't; it's bad enough to be an idiot and know it myself."

"I sha'n't—perhaps. Is that all?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then for mercy's sake do go and talk to John, and let me put on my shoes," said Mrs. Burton, impatiently. "I can't go to breakfast in my slippers."

Brockway vanished obediently, and presently found Burton struggling into his outer garments in the smoking-room.

"Hello, Fred; how are the invalids this morning? Get you out bright and early?"

"One of them did—that old fellow with the bad case of ticket-limits. I'm in trouble up to my neck, and you've got to help me out."

"Say the word and I'll do it if it costs me something," said Burton, who was nothing if not helpful to his friends.

"It's going to cost you something—a whole day, in fact. I promised to 'personally conduct' the crowd up to Silver Plume to-day, and the arrangements are all made. Now this old fellow says he isn't going; says I've got to stay in Denver with him and telegraph another thirty days to his ticket, or the heavens will fall. I'm going to do it, and I want you to take my place with the party."

"Same old maker of hard-and-fast promises, aren't you, Fred," said the general agent, smiling. "I suppose I can do it, if you can square it with Emily."

"I've done that already; she's awfully good about it—says she'll go along and help you out. What's this place? Overton? By Jove! I'll have to be getting back to my car; we're only fifteen miles out. Thank you much, old man—see you later"—and the passenger agent pushed through the group in the wash-room and dropped off to once more make the circuit of car Naught-fifty.