"
"What station?" asked Crosby sententiously.
"I don't know, but it wouldn't be a bit nice to spoil the adventure by
stopping now."
"But we can't walk all over the State of Illinois," he cried.
"For shame! You are ready to give up the instant something to eat comes
in sight. Mr. Higgins may be able to suggest something. What is the
nearest----"
"I have it," interrupted Crosby. "The Wabash road runs through this
neighborhood, doesn't it? Well, where is its nearest station?"
"Lonesomeville--about four miles south," said Higgins.
"Do the night trains stop there?"
"I guess you can flag 'em."
"There's an east-bound train from St. Louis about midnight, I'm quite
sure."
While the fugitives were enjoying Mrs. Higgins's hastily but adorably
prepared meal, the details of the second stage of the flight were
perfected. Mr. Higgins gladly consented to hitch up his high-boarded
farm wagon and drive them to the station on the Wabash line, and half an
hour later Higgins's wagon clattered away in the night. To all
appearances he was the only passenger.
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