“That’s a bargain,” said Frank. “Come on. We’ll buy your ticket right now.”
“No,” demurred Markham, holding back in a timorous way. “You get both tickets. I’ll be somewhere on the train. I’d rather sort of hang around the smoker and the platforms till we get beyond the city limits.”
“All right,” said Frank.
He had a vague idea in his mind that Markham was afraid to show himself publicly in the city, for some reason or other. Frank even speculated as to the possibility of Markham being disguised. He looked, acted and talked like a boy about his own age. The moustache, however, suggested that he was a young man of about twenty.
Frank made his new acquaintance promise positively he would be on the train. He went back to the depot and bought another ticket to Greenville. He was somewhat anxious and impatient until the train started up.
There was a first stop at the limits of the city. Just as the train steamed ahead again, some one entered at the rear door of the coach.
“Hello—good,” exclaimed Frank, as Markham quietly sat down in the seat beside him. “Why—”
Frank paused there, staring at his fellow-passenger. Markham had washed the grime from his face. He no longer wore the cap pulled down over his eyes. Looking bright as a dollar, he smiled, pleasantly.
“Pretty grimy, wasn’t I?” he laughed.
“Why, yes,” stammered the puzzled Frank, “but say—what has become of your moustache?”