“You’re luny! What would that man want to wear false whiskers for? He ain’t in no play.”
Another carriage appeared. Mr. and Mrs. Diamond left it. They had come to meet Inza.
The train whistled in the distance.
In a few moments it whistled for Bloomfield station. It came rushing up to the platform and stopped. Inza and her companions were on board.
In the midst of the excitement the door of the strange closed carriage opened and a pale-faced young man stepped out. He fixed his eyes on Inza, who had descended from the train. She was dressed in a brown traveling suit and was acknowledging the merry greetings of the friends who had met her.
Bart Hodge had hastened away to look after the baggage.
The villagers were staring agape.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Bill Kimball, who had reached the station barely in time to see the passengers descend. “That’s her—that stunnin’ gal in brown! She’s got black eyes, an’ Toots told me she was black-eyed and the handsomest gal in the world. That’s her!”
“Who’s that pale-faced feller that’s jest got out of that kerriage?” asked a young chap, turning his quid of tobacco in his mouth. “He’s actin’ almighty queer.”
The person referred to was approaching Inza from behind, stepping softly. He was unobserved by the friends who surrounded her. Of a sudden he stepped forward, flung his arms round her, caught her from her feet and turned to dash with her toward the carriage. The door was open. The driver had his whip poised.