Tinker knelt on the seat, looking back over the hood.

They were almost out of sight of the station when he fancied that he saw a hatless figure run out of it into the road.

It might have been only fancy; they were so far off he could not trust his sight.

Three minutes later he dropped down on the seat with a sigh of relief.

"That's all right!" he said.
"Oh," said Claire, "how can I ever thank you?
You've saved me--oh, what haven't you saved me from!" "A bad hat--a regular bad hat," said Tinker gravely.
"You wonderful boy!" she cried, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Tinker wriggled uncomfortably.