“Is this the train to Chicago?” said Robin, breathlessly.
But he was so much less than the other people, and the man was so busy, he did not hear him.
Robin tried to get nearer.
“Is this the Chicago train, sir?” he said, a little louder.
He had had to press by a man whom he had been too excited to see, and the man looked down, and spoke to him.
“Chicago train?” he said, in a voice which was abrupt, without being ill-natured. “Yes, you’re all right. Got your sleeping tickets?”
Robin looked up at him quickly. He knew the voice, and was vaguely glad to hear it. He and Meg had never been in a sleeping-car in their lives, and he did not quite understand. He held out his tickets.
“We are going to sleep on the train,” he said; “but we have nothing but these.”
“Next car but two, then,” he said; “and you’d better hurry.”
And when both voices thanked him at once, and the two caught each other’s hands and ran towards their car, he looked after them and laughed.