"Well, let's take a
drive."
"Meredith," said the other, turning to him gravely, "you may think me a
fool, if you will, and it's likely I am; but I don't leave this station
except by train. I've only two days to work in, and every minute lessens
our chances to beat McCune, and I have to begin by wasting time on a
tussle with a traitor. There's another train at eleven fifty-five; I don't
take any chances on missing that one."
"Well, well," laughed his friend, pushing him good-humoredly toward a door
by a red and white striped pillar, "we'll wait here, if you like; but at
least go in there and get a shave; it's a clean shop. You want to look
your best if you are going down to fight H. Fisbee."
"Take these, then, and you will understand," said Harkless; and he thrust
his three telegrams of the morning into Tom's hand and disappeared into
the barber-shop. When he was gone, Meredith went to the telegraph office
in the station, and sent a line over the wire to Helen:
"Keep your delegation at home. He's coming on the 11.55."
Then he read the three telegrams Harkless had given him. They were all
from Plattville:
"Sorry cannot oblige. Present incumbent tenacious. Unconditionally refuses
surrender. Delicate matter. No hope for K. H. But don't worry. Everything
all right.
"WARREN SMITH.
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