Taking the lines from Frank, he lashed the tired horse with
the whip and they plunged forward into the night.
Once or twice Frank tried to open a conversation with his companion,
but received such short replies that he gave up and shrank back in the
corner of the seat in miserable silence.
After nearly an hour, Whitley brought the horse to a standstill, and
jumping out of the buggy, began to unhitch. Against the dark sky, Frank
could see the shadowy outlines of a house and barn.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"At my place, nine miles south of town," Whitley answered. "Help me
put up the horse, can't you?"
Frank obeyed.
"No, don't take the harness off," said Jim again; "you'll want him
before long." And then he led the way to the house.
Taking a key from its hiding place beneath one corner of the step, he
unlocked the door and entered; and while Frank stood shivering with
the cold and wet, found a lamp and made a light. The room where they
stood was well carpeted and furnished, and upon the table were the
remains of a meal, together with empty bottles and glasses, and lying
on the chair was a woman's glove.
Frank looked around curiously. He had heard rumors of Whitley's place
in the country, but this was his first visit.
"Well," said Jim shortly, "sit down while I build a fire and get
something to drink; things are not very gay here to-night, but we'll
do the best we can."
When the room was warm and they had removed their wraps and outer
clothing, and Jim had partaken freely from a supply of liquor on the
sideboard, he stretched himself in an easy chair and spoke more
pleasantly.
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