'Ain't forgot the rhyme, 'ave yer?' he asked in a husky voice that seemed to issue from the ground beneath his broken boots. 'The rhyme we used to sing together in the Noight-Nursery when I put my faice agin' the bars, after climbin' along 'arf a mile of slippery slaites to git there.'
And Rogers, smiling, found himself saying it, while the pretty Guard fixed her blue eyes on his face and waited patiently:—
I travel far and wide,
But in my own inside!
Such places
And queer races!
I never go to them, you see,
Because they always come to me!
'Take your seat, please,' cried the Guard. 'No luggage, you know!' She pushed him in sideways, first making him drop his dirty bundle.
With a quick, light step a very thin man hurried up. He had no luggage, but carried on his shoulder a long stick with a point of gold at its tip.
'Light the lamps,' said the Guard impatiently, 'and then sit on the back buffers and hold your pole out to warn the shooting stars.'
He hopped in, though not before Rogers had passed the time of night with him first:—
I stand behind the sky, and light the stars,—
Except on cloudy nights;
And then my head
Remains in bed,
And takes along the ceiling—easier flights!
Others followed quickly then, too quickly for complete recognition.
Besides, the Guard was getting more and more impatient.
'You've clean forgotten me,' said one who had an awful air of darkness about him; 'and no wonder, because you never saw me properly. On Sundays, when I was nicely washed up you couldn't 'ardly reckernise me. Nachural 'nuff, too!'