“I’ll see you out,” he announced. “Come ahead.”
“Pardon. That shall be my privilege,” I interposed. But she quickly denied.
“No, please. The conductor is an old friend. I shall need no other help—I’m perfectly at home. You can look out for yourself.”
“But I shall see you again—and where? I don’t know your address; fact is, I’m even ignorant of your name,” I pleaded desperately.
“How stupid of me.” And she spoke fast and low, over her shoulder. “To-night, then, at the Big Tent. Remember.”
“The Big Tent! Shall I inquire there? And for whom?”
“You’ll not fail to see me. Everybody knows the Big Tent, everybody goes there. So au revoir.”
She was swallowed in the wake of the conductor, and I fain must gather my own belongings before following. The Big Tent, she said? I had not misunderstood; and I puzzled over the address, which impinged as rather bizarre, whether in West or East.
We stopped with a jerk, amidst a babel of cries.