The Lion's Mouse

								

noticed about Sands.
"I'd no idea you were out west."
"It's been a flying trip," O'Reilly answered.
"Queer I missed seeing you before. Suppose you've been on board since
Los Angeles?"
"I caught sight of you last night for the first time," said the other.
"I'm not in your car, and I've been resting up. I came on board tired.
One usually does come on board tired!"
"Yes," said Roger. "Well, we shall knock up against each other now and
then, here in the diner."
"Sure to. I shall be spending a few days in New York before Washington,"
O'Reilly volunteered.
"Right! But don't let your coffee get cold for me." Roger passed on.
If his thoughts had not been focussed on the occupant of Stateroom A he
would have wondered a good deal as to what had taken Justin O'Reilly on
a "flying trip" west. This was O'Reilly's first year in Congress, and
he'd manoeuvred to make himself a conspicuous figure in Washington one
way or other. His own present interests could not, Roger thought, be
interfered with by Justin O'Reilly. The man was a Democrat, and opposed
on principle to the cause of John Heron, whom Miss White had called the
"California Oil Trust King": but personally the two were friends, even
distantly related, and O'Reilly would wish to do Heron no secret injury.
When he got back to his own car Sands found the porter waiting.
"Lady's through breakfus, suh, and would like to see yuh w'en
convenient," was the message: and two seconds later Stateroom A's
rightful owner was humbly knocking at the door.
The girl's beauty struck the man anew as she smiled him a welcome. She
was as well groomed as if she had had a lady's maid.
"Has anything happened? Have you had any trouble on my account?" she
inquired.
When Roger said no, nothing had happened, she drew a breath of relief.
"No one in any way noticeable has tried to get acquainted with you?"
"The conductor and porter and a waiter or two are the only persons I've
exchanged a word with--except a fellow I know slightly, named O'Reilly,
a Congressman from California. I suppose he doesn't interest you?"
"No man interests me ... unless the one who is saving my life," the girl
answered surprisingly. As she spoke, a wave of rose-colour poured over
her face, and she turned quickly away in confusion. Roger felt that she
had blurted it out, scarcely knowing what she said until too late.
Instead of liking her less, he liked her better. He brought forth the
envelope to show. It had been under his pillow all night, he told her.
"I don't know what I should have done without you!" she said, with a
gratitude that was almost humble. There'd be a certain blankness, Roger
couldn't help seeing, when the time came to do without her!
"When we get to Chicago," he asked, "how can I help you there?"
"Oh, I expect to be met by a friend. I suppose I shan't see you again:
but I shall never forget."
Roger Sands felt a horrid twinge of some unpleasant emotion. He loathed