The stranger was correct in his guess. Uncoupled from the rest of the train, their coach remained poised uncomfortably half-way up the hill, while the engine, still puffing and wheezing like a stout man going upstairs, pulled the open cars and the baggage car up the grade and, disappearing through a gap in the hill, became only a faint noise and a trail of thin smoke. Polly laughed in spite of herself and the young man responded with a smile that revealed two dazzling rows of teeth.
“Mañana!” he laughed. “So we say down here and so we do. You find it amusing, señorita, after your country?”
“It’s different, you must admit. We at least aim to reach places on time.”
“Yes, that is the difference—you aim, we do not,” replied the other, thoughtfully. “Some day—but perhaps the señorita will get out and have a breath of fresh air? There is, alas, plenty of time.”
A mischievous impulse seized the girl. She felt as she used to feel when as a small, fat, freckled youngster she had sat still as long as she possibly could in school and then despite the teacher’s stern eye her nervous energy had got the better of her.
“After all he’s only a boy,” she told herself. “I’ll bet he isn’t any older than my freshmen cousins. What’s the harm?”
Outside the sun was hot but the wind was fresh and cool.
“Through that cut in the mountains and around a curve is Conejo,” said Juan Pachuca, as Polly, glad to be out of the hot car, drew long breaths of the splendid air. “You have friends there?”
“In Conejo? Oh no, my brother lives in Athens. That’s where I am going. He is superintendent of a coal mine there.”
“Athens? That is some distance from Conejo. Of course your brother will meet you?”