Belington progressive. [volume] (Belington, W. Va.) 1912-1927, 1913-10-16
CHAPTER XII.
Five O'Clock in the Morning.

1
The clock in the hotel Office struck
three. Orlando Brotherson counted
the strokes; then went on writing.
His transom was partly open and he
had just heard step go by his door,
This was nothing new. He had al
ready heard it several times before
that night. 1t was Mr.. Challoner's
step, and every time it passed, he had
rustled his paper or scratched vigor-
ously with his pen. He is keeping
watch for Oswald was his thought.
They fear sudden end to this. No
one. not the son of my mother knows
me. Do / know myself"
Four o'clock! The light was still
burning, the pile of letters he was
writing increasing.
Five o'clock A rafting shade be-
trays an open window. No other
sound disturbs the quiet of the room.
1t is empty now; but Mr. Challoner,
long since satisfied that all was we'll,
goes by no more. Silence has settled
upon the hotel; that heavy silence
which precedes the dawn.
There was silence in the streets
also. The few who were abroad, crept
quietly along An electric storm was
in the air and the surcharged clouds
hung heavy and low, biding the mo-
ment of outbreak A man who had
left a place of many shadows for the
more open road, paused and looked up
at these clouds; then went calmly on
Suddenly the shrek Of an approach
ing train tears through the valley. Has
it a call for this man? No. Yet he
pauses in the midst Of the street he
is crossing and watches, as a child
might watch, for the flash Of it's lights
at the end of the darkened vista. It
comes-filling the empty space at
which he stares with moving life
engine, baggage car and a long string
Of Pullmans. Then all is dark again
and only the noise of its slackening
wheels comes to him through the
night. 1t has stopped at the station A
minute longer and it has started
again, and the quickly lessening rum
BILE of its departure is all that remains
of this vision of mans activity and
ceaseless expectancy. When it Is
quite gone and all Is quiet, sigh
falls from the mans lips and he
moves on, but this time, for some I'M
explainable reason, in the direction OF
the station. With lowered head he
passes along, noting little till he ar
rives within sight Of the depot where
some freight is being handled, and a
trunk or two wheeled down the plat
FORM No sight could be more or
binary or unsuggestive. but it has its
attraction for him. for he looks up as
he goes by and follows the passage of
that truck down the platform till 1t
has reached the corner and disap-
peared. Then he signs again and
again and moves on.
A cluster Of houses, one Of them
open and lighted, was all which lay
between him now and the country
road. He was hurrying past, for his
step had unconsciously quickened as
he turned his back upon the station,
when he was seized again by that
mood Of curiosity and stepped up to
the door from which light issued
and looked in A common eating
room lay before him, with ludely
spread tables and one very sleepy
waiter taking orders from new ar
RIVAL who sat with his back to the
door. Why did the lonely man on the
Sidewalk start as his eye fell on the
latter's commonplace figure, hungry
man demanding breakfast in a cheap,
country restaurant? His own physique
was powerful while that of the other
looked slim and frail But fear was
In the air and the brooding Of
tempest affects some temperaments
In totally unexpected manner. AS
the man inside turns slightly and