professional exterior and stamped up to the bar, assuring herself that fortitude would win the day. “There seems to be some mistake,” she addressed the barman shortly. “I was supposed to get down at Eckville, but the conductor put me down here, instead. Could you please tell me when the next train comes through and kindly direct me to a hotel where I can wait for it? I would appreciate it.”
The barman, a youngish, wiry weasel of a character, shot her a fidgety, distant sort of glance, but did not interrupt his laborious drying. “No, ma’am,” he slurred carelessly. “No mistake. This here is Eckville, and this here is the Eckville Hotel. It’s the only one in town. In