Purse in hand, he paused before the advertisement and slowly yielded to its spell. His eyes grew fixed and glassy: tickets, train, and waiting bride had passed out of his mind. Mr. Fogo's fit was upon him.
Meanwhile the Twins, unconscious of the flight of time, and untutored in the ways of locomotives, were loading their sister with parting advice.
"This 'ere," remarked Peter, pulling a bulky parcel from his pocket, "contains a variety o' useful articles for travellin', which I've a-reckoned up durin' the past week an' meant to hand 'ee at the las' moment. There's a wax candle an' a box o' lucifers for the tunnels, an' a roll o' diach'lum plaister in case o' injury, an' 'Foxe's Book o' Martyrs,' ef you shud tire o' lookin' out at the windey, an' Thorley's-Food-for-Cattle Almanack for the las' thirteen year all done up separate, an' addressed to 'Mr. P. Dearlove, juxty Troy.' 'Bout this last, I wants Mr. Fogo to post wan at ivery stashun where you stops, so's we may knaw you've got there safe."
"I see," broke in Paul, who had been spelling through the notices with which the carriage was adorned, "there's a fine not exceedin' saxty shillin' ef you communicates wi' the guard wi'out reason, an' wuss ef you cuts the cush'ns or damages the compartment. You'd bes' call Mr. Fogo's 'tention to that."
"An' warn 'un not to get out while the train's i' motion; but you was al'ays thoughtful, Tamsin. God bless thee, little maid! Et makes my head swim o' whiles to think 'pon the times I've a-danced 'ee 'pon my knee, an' now you'm a married woman!"
"God bless you both, my dear brothers!"
"Amazin'," said Paul; "I see the Cumpenny won't hold itsel' liable for—"
There was a slamming of doors, a shriek of the whistle, and the train began to move away. At the same moment Mr. Fogo darted out of the Booking Office, and came tearing up the platform.
"Where's my wife?" he cried. "Which carriage—?"
It was too late. The carriage was already beyond the platform, and the train had gathered speed. But presence of mind belongs not to experience only. At the end of the train was hitched an empty clay-truck, bound on a return journey to Five Lanes Junction. Quick as thought the Twins, as Mr. Fogo rushed up to them, caught him by the coat collar and seat of his trousers, and with one timely heave sent him flying into this. When he staggered to his feet— hatless, without spectacles, and besmeared with clay from head to foot—the train was fifty yards beyond the station. And so, staring back mournfully at the little group upon the platform, he vanished from their sight.