A NIGHT IN THE TRAIN.
“What a funny puff-puff!” exclaimed Fidge, when, all of the creatures on the platform having entered the train, it slowly steamed out of the station, while the Porter took down the candlestick signal and carefully extinguished the light, remarking aloud, as he did so, “Well, thank goodness, they’re gone!”
“I think,” said Dick, looking about him curiously, “that it must be what is called a sleeping car.”
“Yes, of course it is,” agreed the Prehistoric Doctor, who had joined the party. “See, here are the sleeping bunks. This is mine,” he added, taking possession of one of the lower berths by throwing his carpet bag on to it.
“I’ll have the one above it,” announced the Palæotherium, climbing up to the upper berth, and clumsily treading on the Prehistoric Doctor’s hand as he did so.
“I shall have to be near my Doctor, of course, as I am an invalid,” remarked the Dodo, plaintively, “so shall take the lower berth next to him.”
And thus each of the creatures took up their respective positions, and the children thought it best to follow their example. Dick and Fidge climbed up to one of the upper berths, and Marjorie made herself comfortable in the one below them.
“It’s much better than being in those horrid little tents on the draughty station,” she called out; “and we are sure to get to somewhere in this train, aren’t we, Dick?”
“Yes, rather,” was her elder brother’s reply. “I say, Sis, what are we going to do when they ask us for our tickets at the Crystal Palace? I haven’t got any money except this two shillings, have you?”
“Not a penny,” admitted Marjorie. “However,” she added, yawning sleepily, “I suppose it will all come right; none of the other creatures took tickets, you know. The great thing is to get back to England.”