Phoebe was going to Reno.
Long, long after the departure her father lifted his half-closed blue eyes from the coals in the grate and discovered that the room was ice-cold.
He understood the habits of astute theatrical managers so well by this time that he did not have to be told that the company would journey to Chicago by one of the slow trains. The 186 comfort and convenience of the player is seldom considered by the manager, who, as a rule, when there is time to spare, transports his production by the least expensive way. Harvey knew that Nellie and the “Up in the Air” company would pass through Tarrytown on the pokiest day train leaving New York over the Central. There was, of course, the possibility that the affluent Nellie might take the eighteen-hour train, but it was somewhat remote.
Sunday morning found him at the Tarrytown station, awaiting the arrival or the passing of the train bearing the loved ones who were casting him off. He was there early, bundled in his ulster, an old Blakeville cap pulled down over his ears, a limp cigarette between his lips. A few of the station employés knew him and passed the time of day.
“Going in rather early, ain’t you, Mr.—Mr.—” remarked the station master, clapping his hands to generate warmth.
“No,” said Harvey, leaving the inquirer in the dark as to whether he referred to a condition or a purpose.
A couple of hours and a dozen trains went by. Harvey, having exhausted his supply of cigarettes, 187 effected the loan of one from the ticket agent.
“Waiting for some one, sir?” asked that worthy. “Or are you just down to see the cars go by?”
“What time does the Chicago train go through?” asked Harvey.