Casey had known she was anxious to catch the train, and he had made the trip in an hour and twenty-nine minutes in spite of the fact that he had driven the last mile with a completely unconscious lady leaning heavily against his left shoulder.

She made much better time with Casey than she would have made on the narrow-gauge train which carried ore and passengers and mail to Lund, arriving when most convenient to the train crew.

That it took half an hour to restore her to consciousness was not Casey's fault.
Casey had succeeded in whipping the heavy man till he hollered, but the effort had been noticeable.

Casey wondered uneasily whether by any chance he, Casey Ryan, was growing old with the rest of the world.

That possibility had never before occurred to him, and the thought was disquieting.