One hour later the smooth chug of a car that was not altogether

unfamiliar to their ears brought those four women eagerly to their

respective windows, and as the old clock chimed the hour of noon they

beheld Mark Carter driving calmly down the street toward his own home

in his own car. His own car! and Billy Gaston lounging lazily by

his side still chewing rhythmically.

Mark's Car! Mark! Billy! Ah Billy! Three of them mused with a

note of triumph in their eyes.

And Mrs. Harricutt as she rolled her Sunday bonnet strings mused: "Now, how in the world did that Mark Carter get his own car down to

Economy when he went up with the Chief? He had it down here this

morning, I know, for I saw him riding round. And that little imp of a

Billy! I wonder why he always tags him round! Miss Saxon ought to be

warned about that! I'll have to do it! But how in the world did Mark

get his car?"

Billy enjoyed his lunch that day, a bit of cold chicken and bread, two

juicy red cheeked apples, and an unknown quantity of sugary doughnuts

from the stone crock in the pantry. He sat on the side step munching

the last doughnut he felt he could possibly swallow. Mark was home and

all was well. Himself had seen the impressive glance that passed

between Mark and the Chief at parting. The Chief trusted Mark that was

plain. Billy felt reassured. He reflected that that guy Judas had been

precipitate about hanging himself. If he had only waited and

done a little something about it there might have been a

different ending to the story. It was sort of up to Judas anyway,

having been the cause of the trouble.

With this virtuous conclusion Billy wiped the sugar from his mouth,

mounted his wheel and went forth to browse in familiar and much

neglected pastures.

He eyed the Carter house as he slid by. Mrs. Carter was placidly

shaking out the table cloth on the side porch. Mark had eaten his apple

sauce and gone. He passed Browns, Todds, Bateses, chasing a white hen

that had somehow escaped her confines, but in front of Joneses he

suddenly became aware of the blue car that stood in front of the

parsonage. It had come to life and was throbbing. It was backing toward

him and going to turn around. On the sidewalk leaning on a cane stood

the obnoxious stranger for whose presence in Sabbath Valley he, Billy

Gaston, was responsible. He lounged at ease with a smile on his ugly

mug and acted as if he lived there! There was nothing about his

appearance to suggest his near departure. His disabled car still

stood silent and helpless beside the curb. Aw Gee!




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