“I don’t think you could.”
“I am able and willing to pay liberally for it.”
“Oh, you would have to go out to the mills to find a horse and a man to drive it for you, and you might as well walk to Carbondale at once as to do that.”
“When is the next train due?”
“The next train won’t help you any, for it is the lightning express, and she doesn’t stop here. You can’t go on the next one either, for she is the fast freight, and doesn’t carry passengers. You’ll have to wait for the accommodation which goes through here at six fourteen in the morning.”
“Then I suppose I shall have to pass the night in your waiting-room,” said Huggins, who was fairly at his wits’ end.
“Well, I suppose you won’t,” said the agent in emphatic tones. “I shall have to ask you to go out now, for I am going to lock up.”
“Don’t you leave a room open for the accommodation of passengers?” exclaimed Huggins, wondering what would become of him if the agent turned him out in the snow to pass the night as best he could, while the thermometer was only a degree or two above zero. If it had been summer he could have bunked under a tree; but as it was—the runaway shuddered when he thought of the long, cold hours that must be passed in some way before he would see the sun rise again. Here the tramp, who stood holding his hands over the stove, put in a word to help Huggins; but he only made a bad matter worse. The heart of the station agent was not likely to be moved to pity by any such advocate as he was. He carried a very hard-looking face, he was rough and unkempt, and his whole appearance was against him. Besides, he did not speak in a way calculated to carry his point.