“I wish we were going to spend some time in New York,” Phil was saying. “We just shoot in and then right out again.”
“You ungrateful heathen!” Lucile chided. “What do you expect? I’d like to spend a year in New York, too, but we can’t do everything at once.”
What Jack might have replied will never be known for just then they heard the whistle of the train. The journey had begun.
CHAPTER X
WHIRLED THROUGH THE NIGHT
Mile after mile, the long train rumbled on over shining rails that fell away behind and merged in the far-distant sky-line. The first rays of the morning sun struck on the brilliant metal and gathered up the dazzled sunbeams to scatter them broadcast over hills and fields and flying houses. Now and then the hoarse whistle of the engine broke the early morning quiet, only to be flung back on itself by wood and cave and mountainside in a scornful shout of mockery.
And still the girls slept on in the dreamless, heavy sleep of tired girlhood. Of course, not one of the three had had the least intention of doing anything so commonplace as going to sleep; in fact, the very idea had been vaguely irritating. Had they not looked forward to this very thing for months—at least, so it seemed to them—and it was almost impossible for them to have patience with the idiocy of any one who could calmly suggest slumber at such a time. And Phil—for it was at him that this Parthian shot had been aimed—had evinced remarkable self-control, in that he had refused to argue, but had continued to smile in an aggravatingly superior manner, which had said more plainly than words: “You think you mean it, no doubt, but I, who am wise, know what simpletons you are.”
Of course, Phil was right, as they had known in their hearts he would be, in spite of all their resolution, and it was not until the sun struck through the little window and dashed upon Lucile’s sleeping face in a golden shower that she stirred impatiently and brushed her hand across her eyes.