NOVEMBER JOE
suddenly and incongruously, high above the clamour of the forest noises.
Mrs. Harding took up the receiver, and this is what I heard.
"My husband won't be home to-night; he's gone into St. George. . . . No, I've no one to send. . . . But how can I? There is no one here but me and the children. . . . Well, there's Mr. Quaritch, a sport, staying the night. No, I could n't ask him."
I came forward.
"Why not?" I inquired.
Mrs. Harding shook her head as she stood still holding the receiver. She was a matron of distinct comeliness, and she cooked amazingly well.
"You can ask me anything," I urged.
"They want some one to carry a message to November Joe," she explained. "It's the Provincial Police on the 'phone."
"I'll go."
"Joe made me promise not to send any sports after him," she said doubtfully. "They all want him now he's famous."
"But November Joe is rather a friend of mine.
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