West Point Colors

by Anna Bartlett Warner

The train came rushing up on time; Magnus swung himself in; and with a derisive snort the locomotive tore him away from home, and mother, and the three girls.

As a rule, the inmates of a railway car are extremely unsympathetic to look at. What face or figure do you ever see there to which you would like to appeal in case of need? When the need comes, indeed, there is generally someone to take it up, a comforting thought, worth remembering; but for the most part people hold themselves visibly aloof, except in the way of growling over open windows, or of striving for seats.

Charlemagne Kindred looked up and down the car, scanning briefly the faces as he took his seat; and the width of the world, and its exceeding low temperature, settled down upon his heart as a new fact.

The first day and the first night went by wearily enough. Magnus had decided to save money by not taking a sleeper; assuring his anxious mother and sisters that he could sleep anyhow and anywhere. And so he could, at home, as they well knew. But it seemed to him in that long first night, as if the boards of their barn floor at home were softer (as they were certainly far sweeter) than all the cushions of the night express. What fumes the men brought in from the smoking car! What gruff voices and hollow laughs and idle words were all about him. Disgust, fatigue, and strangeness took the boy in their hard hands, until, as the second night drew on, Magnus did not know himself. He wondered what was the matter with him: wondered if he was going to be ill: and never guessed for a while that he was growing deathly, deadly homesick.

The knowledge came. Just at nightfall the train slowed up at a little country station, and a woman and child got out. They had been sitting far behind Magnus, and, as the child never cried, she had called forth no special notice; though once or twice when the rush and roar ceased for a moment, Magnus had caught the sweet canary-bird notes of the little voice. Now, she passed him in her mother's arms; and in the moment's pause at the door, the little creature turned and looked down the dingy car, where what light there was seemed just to show up the darkness. The sweet, serious eyes gazed along the lines of her late fellow-passengers—then as the way opened, and the mother moved on, the child waved her little innocent hand in farewell greeting to that small, unknown world.

"Dood-night, folks!" she said—and was gone.

I can fancy that many hearts stirred at the sound; but poor Magnus quite gave way. Oh, for one word from the dear home voices, one touch of the dear home hands. He remembered Violet, when she was no bigger than that little thing, nestled in her mother's arms just so. What was he doing here, away from them all? What was West Point to him? If indeed he ever got there. Magnus felt now as if he should die by the way.

He was alone in the seat just then; and the boy pulled his hat down over his eyes, leaned head and arms against the dingy red cushion, and let the tears come. The train ran on, past several other small stations; then drew up before a ten-minutes-for-refreshment place, where to many people the minutes and the refreshment would be equally brief and unsatisfactory. Yet the glow and light and counter full of viands looked tempting enough to a weary passenger; and many got out. Magnus never stirred. He was not hungry, naturally enough; and besides had some of the home sandwiches and cookies still in his bag. But touch them—look at them even—in his present mood, he could not.

The car was almost empty: and in the relief of the sudden stillness and space, Magnus got up and walked to and fro between the open doors. It was a comfort to do anything, and the ten minutes were far too short for him as for the rest. He dropped into his seat again, as the passengers came hurrying back; watching them with languid interest, and wondering which one would come and sit by him. Last night he had had a man so redolent of unpleasant things that only a very tired boy could have managed to sleep at all. Last night, and part of to-day. A somewhat different set were coming in now; new faces taking the place of others left behind at the station.

Magnus eyed them one by one, desiring none of them in his seat, and only hoping they would leave it and him alone, until just as the train began to pull out of the station. There came in then a man of a different type of citizenship. Of good height and sturdy build; close shaven, close cropped: a dress and outfit scrupulously neat and in order, but evidently bought at the shop of Comfort and Use, and not from that tailor to all the crowned heads, High Style. Over the whole man was that look of absolute cleanness—mental, moral, and physical—which a smooth face always sets off to the best advantage. Step firm and businesslike, eyes quick and kind. A man "at leisure from himself," for all the work his Master might set before him. Was there, perhaps, work here?