I began to wonder when the telegram would reach Chicago.  Perhaps something by good fortune might delay it.

Mr. Allen Price walked over to the telegraph office, and following him with my eyes I saw him pay for the message and then stroll away.

Hardly had he gone before I too stepped up to the counter.

“How long will it take to send a message to Chicago?” I asked of the clerk in charge.

“Probably till noon,” was the reply.  “The storm has crippled us, and we are having trouble with our lineman.”

“It won’t go before noon!” I repeated, and my heart gave a bound.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes; perhaps even longer.”

“How about the message that gentleman just handed in?”

“I told him I would send it as soon as possible,”

“Did you tell him it wouldn’t go before noon?”

“No; he didn’t ask,” returned the clerk, coolly.  He was evidently not going to let any business slip if he could help it.

“Is there any possible way I can get to Chicago before noon?” I went on.

The clerk shook his head.  “I don’t think there is,” he replied.

“What is the nearest station on the other side of the bridge?”

“Foley.”

“And how far is that from Chicago?”

“Twelve miles.”

“Thank you.”

I walked away from the counter filled with a sudden resolve.  I must reach Chicago before the telegram or Mr. Allen Price.  If I did not, my trip to the city of the lakes would be a failure.

How was the thing to be accomplished?  Walking out on the covered platform, out of sight of the man who was following me, I tried to solve the problem.

Smalleyville was a good ten miles from the misplaced bridge, and in a soaking rain such a distance was too far to walk.  Perhaps I might get a carriage to take me to the spot.  I supposed the cost would be several dollars, but decided not to stand on that amount.

I had about made up my mind to hunt up a livery stable, when some workingmen rolled up to the station on a hand-car.

“Where are you going?” I inquired of one of them.

“Down to the Foley bridge,” was the reply,

“Will you take a passenger?” I went on quickly.

“You’ll have to ask the boss.”

The boss proved to be a jolly German.

“Vont ter haf a ride, does you!” he laughed.

“I’m not over particular about the ride,” I explained.  “I’ve got to get to Chicago as soon as possible, even if I have to walk.”

“Vell, jump on, den.”

I did so, and a moment later we were off.  I was pretty confident that Mr. Allen Price had not witnessed my departure, and I hoped he would not find it out for some hours to come.

The rain had now slackened, so there was no further danger of getting soaked to the skin.  There were four men on the car besides the boss, and seeing they were short a hand I took hold with a will.