She came down into my arms with the limpness of one who is accustomed to such attentions, and then wheeled instantly upon the futile individual on the steps above.
"Quick! My hat! Heaven preserve us, how it rains!" she cried, in a deep, wheezy voice and—in German!
"Moth—" I began insinuatingly, but the sacred word died unfinished on my lips. The next instant I was scurrying down the platform to where I saw Britton standing.
"Have you seen them?" I shouted wildly.
"No, sir. Not a sign, sir. Ah! See!"
He pointed excitedly down the platform.
"No!" I rasped out. "By no possible stretch of the imagination can that be Mrs. Titus. Come! We must ask the conductor. That woman? Good Lord, Britton, she waddles!"
The large lady and the smallish man passed us on the way to shelter, the latter holding an umbrella over her hat with one hand and lugging a heavy hamper in the other. They were both exclaiming in German. The station guard and the conductor were bowing and scraping in their wake, both carrying boxes and bundles.
No one else had descended from the train. I grabbed the conductor by the arm.
"Any one else getting off here?" I demanded in English and at once repeated it in German.