A NIGHT IN THE TRAIN.
“What a funny puff-puff!” exclaimed Fidge, when, all of the creatures on the platform having entered the train, it slowly steamed out of the station, while the Porter took down the candlestick signal and carefully extinguished the light, remarking aloud, as he did so, “Well, thank goodness, they’re gone!”
“I think,” said Dick, looking about him curiously, “that it must be what is called a sleeping car.”
“Yes, of course it is,” agreed the Prehistoric Doctor, who had joined the party. “See, here are the sleeping bunks. This is mine,” he added, taking possession of one of the lower berths by throwing his carpet bag on to it.
“I’ll have the one above it,” announced the Palæotherium, climbing up to the upper berth, and clumsily treading on the Prehistoric Doctor’s hand as he did so.
“I shall have to be near my Doctor, of course, as I am an invalid,” remarked the Dodo, plaintively, “so shall take the lower berth next to him.”
And thus each of the creatures took up their respective positions, and the children thought it best to follow their example. Dick and Fidge climbed up to one of the upper berths, and Marjorie made herself comfortable in the one below them.
“It’s much better than being in those horrid little tents on the draughty station,” she called out; “and we are sure to get to somewhere in this train, aren’t we, Dick?”
“Yes, rather,” was her elder brother’s reply. “I say, Sis, what are we going to do when they ask us for our tickets at the Crystal Palace? I haven’t got any money except this two shillings, have you?”
“Not a penny,” admitted Marjorie. “However,” she added, yawning sleepily, “I suppose it will all come right; none of the other creatures took tickets, you know. The great thing is to get back to England.”
“There’s a window up here, and I have just looked out,” said Dick, “it’s all pitch dark.”
“Yes,” murmured Marjorie; “Underground Railway to Crystal Palace; that’s how we went last time, you know—part of the way, at any rate—let’s go to sleep now. Good-night, Dick.”
“Good-night.”
“Nighty, nighty!” shouted Fidge.
“Good-night, Fidge, dear,” was his sister’s reply, in a very tired voice.
A moment afterwards the train gave a lurch, and there was a crash and a loud cry from one of the lower berths.
Dick hastily scrambled down to ascertain what was the matter, and found that the Dodo had tumbled out of bed.
“Bless my gloves and beak!” ejaculated the bird, as he picked himself up; “it’s enough to frighten one out of their lives, isn’t it?”
“Have you hurt yourself much?” inquired Dick, kindly.
“No; I don’t think so,” said the Dodo, carefully feeling himself all over to see if any bones were broken.
“How do you like my nightcap?” he inquired, suddenly and inconsequently. “Does it suit me?”
“Oh, it’s all right, I suppose,” said Dick, laughing in spite of himself at the bird’s vanity. “Where did you get it?”
“Found it under my pillow,” announced the bird, triumphantly. “That’s why I tumbled out of bed, so that some one at any rate, should come and see me in it. Nobody else seems to be coming, though,” he added, looking anxiously up and down, “so I shall go to bed again; but I shall leave my curtains wide open, so that if anybody passes by during the night, or in the morning, they will see how beautiful I am when I am asleep.”
At that moment there was an awful noise like a deep groan, which grew and grew in volume till it sounded like distant thunder, and then faded away and ended up with a comical little whistle. Again and again it was repeated.
“Oh, Dick! what is it?” called Marjorie, putting her head outside the curtains.
“I can’t think,” said Dick, in a puzzled voice.
“Where have I heard that sound before?” exclaimed the Dodo, putting one finger of the glove to his forehead, and striking a thoughtful attitude.
“Ah! I have it,” he cried. “Of course, it’s a prehistoric snore—the Doctor is asleep.”
And, sure enough, that was what the noise was. By listening outside the curtains of his berth they discovered, without a doubt, that it proceeded from there.
“What a frightful row,” cried Dick, indignantly. “We can’t go to sleep with all that noise going on. Let’s wake him up.”
“Oh, no!” cried the Dodo, “not for worlds. He is sure to be very sensitive on the point, and would doubtless resent it very much.”
“He ought to be made to sleep in another part of the train, or in a carriage by himself,” grumbled Dick, scrambling back to his berth just in time to meet Fidge, who was trying to get down at the risk of breaking his neck.
“Oh! Dick!” he cried, pointing to the further corner of the berth, “Look! Look! A snake!”
“What?” cried Marjorie, from below, with a little scream.
“A snake!” repeated Fidge. “Look, look, Dick!” he cried, pointing.
Dick looked in the direction indicated, and was horrified to see what he took to be a huge snake, slowly crawling over the partition which divided their berth from the next.
“Give me something to hit it with, quick!” he shouted, excitedly. And Marjorie, with another little frightened scream, handed him the Prehistoric Doctor’s umbrella, which was lying on the floor outside her berth.
Dick seized the umbrella, and, grasping it with both hands, aimed a mighty blow at what he took to be the snake.
An agonized scream from the next berth, and a hasty withdrawal of the snake, was followed by the appearance of the Palæotherium’s head over the top of the partition.
“Who did that?” he demanded, with tears in his eyes.
“It was a snake!” cried Dick, excitedly, “and I was trying to kill it.”
“Snake, indeed!” said the Palæotherium, wrathfully. “It was my tail.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” exclaimed Dick, “I really thought it was a snake, you know. I beg your pardon. I do hope I haven’t hurt you very much.”
“H’m! Well, I can’t say that it was very pleasant,” said the Palæotherium, “but if you are really sorry I’ll forgive you—only you mustn’t let it happen again.”
“Shouldn’t have a tail like a snake,” said Fidge, half crying, “and shouldn’t let it come over in our bed.”
The Palæotherium muttered something that neither of the children could understand, and retired, and, except for the Prehistoric Doctor’s snoring, all was quiet again.
This time the children really did get to sleep, and when they awoke the carriage was quite light, and Dick, looking out through the little window at the side of his berth, could see that they were traveling through some very delightful country.
“Wake up! Wake up, Marjorie,” he cried, “it’s morning.”
“I’m velly hungry,” announced Fidge, sitting up and rubbing his eyes sleepily.
“Yes, so am I,” admitted Dick; “we must see what we can do to get some food.”
“The doors at the ends of the carriage are open,” cried Marjorie, from below. “I believe it’s a corridor train, like that we went to Scarborough in last year,” she added. “Perhaps there’s a dining-car at the end of this one.”
Dick and Fidge scrambled down, and, accompanied by Marjorie, determined to explore.
None of the other creatures were apparently awake, and most of the curtains were drawn.
The Dodo, however, true to his word, had left his open, and there he lay in an affected attitude, with his gloves carefully displayed outside the bed-clothes, and his nightcap arranged at the most becoming angle.
Dick could see that he was not really asleep, for one eye was partially open, and as the children passed he murmured, quite loudly enough for Dick to hear—“Ain’t I beautiful?”
The Greedy Eterædarium.
Dick laughed, and passed on to where he could see some wash-basins and a water tap, and there the children had a most refreshing wash; and then, to their great delight, found that the next carriage was labeled—“Breakfast Car”; and as it was the easiest matter in the world to step from one carriage to the other, they were soon at the door.
As soon as they opened it they beheld a curious sight.
There were a number of little tables in the carriage, on each of which were basins of steaming hot bread-and-milk.
The Eterædarium stood at one of the tables, and, with a spoon in each hand, was greedily devouring the bread-and-milk as quickly as he possibly could.
“Come on!” he shouted, with his mouth full. “Just in time. There are one or two basins left; but make haste, before the others come, or you won’t get any.”