Still, I have now and again come upon something on an Irish railway that was droll by reason of its incongruity. There was a station-master at a small town on an important line, who seemed a survival of the leisurely days of our grandfathers. He invariably strolled round the carriages to ask the passengers if they were quite comfortable, just as the conscientious head waiter at the “Trois Frères” used to do in respect of his patrons. He would suggest here and there that a window might be closed, as the morning air was sometimes very treacherous. He even pressed foot-warmers upon the occupants of the second-class carriages. He was the friend of all the matrons who were in the habit of travelling by the line, and he inquired after their numerous ailments (including babies), and listened with dignified attention while they told him all that should be told in public—sometimes a trifle more. A medical student would learn as much about a very interesting branch of the profession through paying attention to the exchange of confidences at that station, as he would by walking the hospitals for a year. The station-master was greatly looked up to by agriculturists, and it was commonly reported that there was no better judge of the weather to be found in the immediate neighbourhood of the station.
It was really quite absurd to hear English commercial travellers and other persons in the train, who had not become aware of the good qualities of this most estimable man, grumbling because the train usually remained at this platform for ten minutes instead of the two minutes allotted to it in the “A B C.” The engine-drivers, it was said, also growled at being forced to run the twenty miles on either side of this station at as fast a rate as forty miles an hour, instead of the thirty to which they had accustomed themselves, to save their time. The cutting remarks of the impatient passengers made no impression upon him.
“Look here, station-master,” cried a commercial gentleman one day when the official had come across quite an unusual number of acquaintances, “is there a breakdown on the line?”
“I don’t know indeed, sir, but I’ll try and find out for you,” said the station-master blandly. He went off hurriedly (for him), and did not return for five minutes.
“I’ve telegraphed up the line, sir,” said he to the gentleman, who only meant to be delicately sarcastic, “and I’m happy to assure you that no information regarding a breakdown has reached any of the principal stations. It has been raining at Ballynamuck, but I don’t think it will continue long. Can I do anything more for you, sir?”
“No, thank you,” said the commercial gentleman meekly.
“I can find out for you if the Holyhead steamer has had a good passage, if you don’t mind waiting for a few minutes,” suggested the official. “What! you are anxious to get on? Certainly, sir; I’ll tell the guard. Good morning, sir.”
When the train was at last in motion a wiry old man in a corner pulled out his watch, and then turned to the commercial traveller.
“Are you aware, sir,” he said tartly, “that your confounded inquiries kept us back just seven minutes? You should have some consideration for your fellow-passengers, let me tell you, sir.”
A murmur of assent went round the compartment.