They threw paper matches, fruit bags and banana skins about the floor, and the hall smelt of musty clothes and rank tobacco. Men smoked and brooded, women talked in moody voices, and jaded children cried. Nobody bothered about them, for Colonist passengers cannot buy civility. They did not know when their trains would start, and Kit doubted if all knew where they went. They had bought a ticket for a spot on the map, at which, perhaps, somebody from their native village had prospered.
One got a sense of apathetic resignation, but Kit remarked that some mouths were firm and some brows were knit. After all, the slack and hopeless do not emigrate, and those who took the plunge had virile qualities. Their patience was perhaps remarkable, but Kit thought they could be moved. To put the crowd on the cars, however, was the railroad company’s business, and Kit gave Alison a packet of candies he had bought and lighted a cigarette. Alison motioned him to rest his back against the rug she pulled across the bench. By and by a bell tolled and wheels rattled.
“My train?” said Alison, and Kit stopped a railroad official.
“Winnipeg Beach excursion,” said the man, and Kit thought Alison was glad because she need not go.
When the excursionists crossed the hall he studied the groups. The girls’ clothes were fashionable; the young men wore straw hats and summer flannels. They carried themselves well, their steps were quick, and their voices happy. Kit thought them keen and optimistic, and he speculated about their occupations. For one thing, it looked as if their pay was good. Alison frowned, for she marked a contrast. The excursionists were going home after a holiday. In the morning they would resume their well-rewarded labors at office and store, but she had no home, and it might be long before she got a post.
A girl gave her a sympathetic glance and touched her companion. He was a rather handsome young fellow and he stopped in front of Kit. Kit, sitting on his bag, leaned against Alison’s bench, and her dress touched his clothes.
“You’re from the Old Country? Waiting for the west-bound?” the Canadian inquired in a friendly voice.
“That is so,” said Kit. “Do you know anything about the trains? So far as we can find out, the railroad men do not.”
The other laughed. “In the West you don’t bother the railroad gang. They don’t like it. You buy your ticket and wait until they think you ought to start. However, the yard loco’s moving some cars, and I expect the Vancouver express will soon pull out. Well, I reckon you’re going the proper way. On the plains we’ll cut a record crop and trade will boom. If you’re willing to hustle, you’ll make good. Will you take a cigarette?”
He gave Kit a package, and the girl gave Alison a bag of fruit. When they went off Alison’s eyes twinkled, but Kit thought her color rather high.