No. 19," and spare himself? He had certainly done
enough to prove that he was a faithful messenger.
Had he? Certain old and well-worn words came into his mind: they had
been in his "writing-book" in his early school-days: "_A chain is no
stronger than its weakest link._" Cyrus jumped off the car before it
fairly stopped and started at a hot pace for the corner of West and
Dwight streets. There must be no weak places in his word of honour.
Doggedly he went to the extreme limit of the indicated route, even
taking the longest way round to make the turn. As he started back,
beneath the arc light at the corner there suddenly appeared a city
messenger boy. He approached Cyrus grinning, and held out an envelope.
"Ordered to give you this," he said, "if you made connections. If you'd
been later than five minutes past seven, I was to keep dark. You've got
seven minutes and a half to spare. Queer orders, but the big railroad
boss, Woodbridge, give 'em to me."
Cyrus made his way back to the car with some self-congratulations that
served to brace up the muscles behind his knees.
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