The last train on the eve of Commencement Day had been late. There was good reason for delay, traffic being heavy. Beside the usual travelers from village to village, there were at least fifty fathers and mothers and sisters of college boys, and there were four traveling men—in this fashion, at least, the conductor classified his passengers. Starting was long deferred; first the main-line train was behind time; then the engine of the Waltonville train moved slowly, as though it felt in every wheel and valve its heavy burden. The traveling men scolded; the staid fathers and mothers and pretty sisters sat quietly, as though this slow journey were a not unsuitable preparation for the solemnities of the morrow. The lateness of the train would be one more interesting detail of a delightful experience. In a few days the doubtful fame of the "nine o'clock" would have spread far beyond Waltonville.
There was one passenger whom the conductor was not able to classify, a tall man who wore a beard sharply pointed in a new fashion, young, but how young it was hard to say. He was handsomely dressed, and his bags were of a different pattern from the square leather cases of the agents and the unwieldy and bulging satchels carried by other travelers.
He rode in the smoking-car and smoked steadily. Once or twice he rose and walked up and down the aisle, complaining of the roughness of his progress. When a passenger took the seat in front of him, he leaned forward and made comment as though communion with a fellow being were suddenly imperative.
"This is a beastly road!"
The newcomer turned toward him, blinking, as though his mind had to exert itself to understand. He regarded the pointed beard and the handsome tie near him with some astonishment.
"What did you say?"
"I said this was a beastly road. I can apply still other adjectives."
"I guess it's good enough for those that have to travel on it," answered the mild voice. "I myself don't travel much. The testimony of our church is rather against traveling."
The handsome young man sat back with a muttered "Humph!" He was not in the least interested in churches or testimonies or those who thought of them seriously; his mind was occupied with certain literary problems which he considered important. At present he was engaged in a quest which he expected confidently would make him famous.