The sorry nag did not keep up with the procession as Wacker broke into a run. Seizing a basket of eggs, the peddler jumped down from the wagon. He was a big, fat, unwieldly person, but he pursued the fugitive vigorously.
The crowd hooted and yelled as the German began to pelt the eggs after the fugitive. Two eggs struck Wacker in the middle of the back. One shied off his hat and broke on the back of his head. Bespattered and hatless, the fellow reached the depot just in time to grab the platform rail of the last car on a departing train.
"Oh, got out of town, did he?" asked Markham quite eagerly.
"Yes, it seems so--faster than he had calculated on," responded Frank.
"Won't be likely to come back again after that reception, eh?" said Markham.
"I should think not. He'll be afraid of something worse."
Markham brightened up. He acted like a different person at once. He laughed, told some funny stories, was his natural self once more, and Frank was very glad of it.
"Poor fellow," he mused. "He's got some harrowing secret on his mind, that's sure, and he doesn't want to meet certain people for some reason or other, and this Dale Wacker is one of them. Well, he's been true blue to me, and I won't worry him by asking about this mystery. It will come out some time, and if he's in danger of trouble I'll stick to him like a brother, for I know he hasn't got a grain of real badness in his nature."
With the morning all of Markham's recent disquietude seemed to have entirely disappeared. When they got down to the office he kept a close watch until nine o'clock.
"Mail's in, Frank," he announced at last, putting on his cap.
"All right," nodded Frank, keeping on with his writing.
"Fatal hour approaches. We shall soon know our doom," continued Markham in a mock-alarm way.
He picked up a new canvas mail satchel marked "F. M. O. H.," and started for the door.
"See here," hailed Frank, "don't you think you can about carry all of our first morning's mail in some modest pocket?"
"Don't care if I can. Big mail satchel makes a good business impression, see?" and Markham darted off, wondering if Frank's heart was beating as fast as his own over the suspense attached to their first mail results.
Frank was indeed anxious, but he tried to go on with his writing. All the same his nerves were on keen edge and his hand was a trifle unsteady, as Markham returned from the post office and placed the satchel on the desk before him.