Upon another occasion a passenger, on arriving at the station over whose destinies this courteous official presided, put his head out of the carriage window, and inquired if the train had arrived punctually.
“Yes, sir,” replied the station-master, “very punctually: seven minutes late to a second.”
Upon another occasion I heard him say to an inquirer,—
“Oh no, sir; I wasn’t originally an Irishman. I am one now, however.”
“By heavens!” said some one at the further end of the compartment, “that reply removes all doubt on the subject.”
Several years ago I was staying at Lord Avonmore’s picturesque lodge at the head of Lough Dearg. A fellow-guest received a telegram one Sunday afternoon which compelled his immediate departure, and seeing by the railway time-table that a train left the nearest station at 7.45, we drove in shortly before that hour. There was, however, no sign of life on the little platform up to 7.50. Thereupon my friend became anxious, and we hunted in every direction for even the humblest official. After some trouble we found a porter asleep on a pile of cushions in the lamp-room. We roused him and said,—
“There’s a train marked on the time-table to leave here at 7.45, but it’s now 7.50, and there’s no sign of a train. What time may we expect it?”
“I don’t know, sir, for myself.” said the porter, “but I’ll ask the station-master.”