On the platform of the little station a few negroes in overalls, two boys, and five men, having apparently nothing to do, were hanging around, hands in their pockets; and, looking about me, I waited.  Nothing happened.  Ahead of us and across a muddy road half a dozen stores, hunched together in a row of detached and shabby frame houses, with upper stories seemingly used for residential purposes, comprised the business portion of the little town, and on our right the post-office, telegraph and express offices, and telephone exchange were in the one large building of the place.  Out of each window facing us some one was looking, and in the open door a man was standing, hat off and sweater-coated, who, at regular intervals, and with unfailing accuracy of aim, ejected tobacco juice into a puddle of water some distance away.  No one but ourselves got off the train, and, its stay at the station being short, the attention of the loungers near by and those resting themselves on boxes and barrels in front of the stores across the road was turned determinatedly to us.  I looked at Selwyn.  In his face was relief.  In mine was anxiety and, I’m afraid, disappointment.  The situation was flat.

I had read various accounts of runaway marriages which had taken place at Claxon, several of which had only succeeded after eluding the sheriff, waiting under orders from irate parents to arrest them; and feeling confident Mrs. Swink would wire the proper person to prevent the marriage of her daughter, I looked around for the one most likely to do the work.  No one appeared.  What if my plan had failed and Madeleine, in my un-wedding garments, was to be taken into custody in Shelby?  I turned to Selwyn.

“Do you suppose—­” My voice was low.  A man close to me, with hands in his pockets, hat on the back of his head, and his left cheek lumpy, was looking at us appraisingly.  “Do you suppose anything will happen at Shelby?  Nothing is happening here.”

Selwyn’s sigh of relief was long.  “If nothing happens here I’ll thank God.  To keep it out of the papers would have been impossible.  Stay here while I see if there is a decent hotel.”  He looked around speculatively.  In the distance a man could be seen on horseback coming down the road which wound from the top of a mountain to the valley below, while at our left a covered ox-cart, a farm wagon, and a Ford car were waiting for their owners.  Nothing in which we could ride, however, was seemingly in sight.  A sudden desire to go somewhere, do something, possessed me.  The day was mild, and the air clean and clear and calling, and the sunshine brilliant.  It was a beautiful day.  We must go somewhere.