Golden Stories / A Selection of the Best Fiction by the Foremost Writers

NEW YORK THE SHORT STORIES COMPANY 1909
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
COPYRIGHT, 1908-1909, BY THE SHORT STORIES COMPANY
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
Following each author's name was a notice: All rights reserved. This book is currently in the public domain, and the notices have been removed, but are mentioned here in the interest of completeness.
Many inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been normalized. Others remain as in the original. Any deviation from the author's intent is solely the responsibility of the transcriber.
This book seems to have been bound in two sections, each with stories numbered I-XII.
Though there was no Table of Contents in the original, one has been included for ease of navigation.
A pelting rain volleyed against the great glass dome of the terminus, a roaring wind boomed in the roof. Passengers, hurrying along the platform, glistened in big coats and tweed caps pulled close over their ears. By the platform the night express was drawn up—a glittering mass of green and gold, shimmering with electric lights, warm, inviting, and cozy.
Most of the corridor carriages and sleeping berths were full, for it was early in October still, and the Scotch exodus was not just yet. A few late comers were looking anxiously out for the guard. He came presently, an alert figure in blue and silver. Really, he was very sorry. But the train was unusually crowded, and he was doing the best he could. He was perfectly aware of the fact that his questioners represented a Cabinet Minister on his way to Balmoral and a prominent Lothian baronet, but there are limits even to the power of an express guard, on the Grand Coast Railway.
Well, what's the matter with this? the Minister demanded. Here is an ordinary first-class coach that will do very well for us. Now, Catesby, unlock one of these doors and turn the lights on.
Very sorry, my lord, the guard explained, but it can't be done. Two of the carriages in the coach are quite full, as you see, and the other two are reserved. As a matter of fact, my lord, we are taking a body down to Lydmouth. Gentleman who is going to be buried there. And the other carriage is for the Imperial Bank of Scotland. Cashier going up north with specie, you understand.