“I want a special train—engine and carriage—down to Hastings immediately,” said Tom, hardly able to speak for agitation.
The superintendent looked at him curiously, as if he doubted his sanity.
“It’s only excitement—trouble. It is a case of life and death. A dear young friend.”
“All right, sir,” the superintendent said quickly. “I see,” and there was a look of sympathy in his eyes. “But I am only a servant of the company. The charge for a special train is high.”
“If it is a thousand pounds, man,” cried Tom, “I must have it.”
“It won’t be that, sir,” was the reply; “nor yet a hundred.” Then naming a sum, it was hastily placed in his hand, and the superintendent left.
He was back directly, and Tom accompanied him then to the telegraph office, where he gave certain instructions, and the clerk began clicking the instruments in his cabinet very forcibly.
“Sending word on for a clear line,” said the superintendent. “Warning for the special.”
“How long will they be?” asked Tom.
“What, with the special? Oh, not long. There was an engine with steam nearly up. But you had better take some refreshment before you go. The place is closed, but come to my room.”