"Pleasant journey, sir," said he. "Good-by, Jeanne. I suppose—"
"Good-by," said Mr. Duval, taking the suitcases. "Come, Jeanne, we must hurry."
Jeanne wondered what Barney had supposed.
"I have our tickets," said Mr. Duval, as the pair entered the station; Jeanne blinking at the lights like a little owl. "Come this way. Our train is over here."
"Lower five and six," said he, to the colored man who stood beside the train. Jeanne wondered if the colored gentleman owned it; she would ask her father later.
Then they were inside. Her eyes having become accustomed to the light, Jeanne was using them. She didn't know which was the more astonishing, the inside of the coach or her father.
Like herself, Mr. Duval was clad throughout in new garments. He wore them well, too. Spotless collar and cuffs, good shoes and socks, and a suit that had the right number of seams in the proper places. He was all right behind, he was all right in front. Jeanne eyed him with pride and pleasure.
"Why, Father!" she said. "You don't even smell of fish."
"I'm glad to hear it," said he, his eyes very bright and shining. "Before I came to Bancroft I was dressed every day like this—like a gentleman. So you like me this way, eh?"
"That way and any way," she said. "But, Father. Where are we going?"