Then all night on the train, crossing the plains, and in the morning Silliguri, the station at the track’s end, apparently.
Paul proceeded to reconnoitre among the crowds who gathered about and under the railway sheds. There were officials, indigo planters, race-course frequenters, Anglo-Saxons and Germans, among the much more numerous dark-skinned natives.
The preponderance of white garments showed the district to be yet on the comparatively low-level, but a glance northward told a different story; woodlands rising in billows of foliage.
Paul beckoned to the party to hasten; his expression an amused interrogation point.
“The railway has shrunk; prepare to shrink, or you will not be comfortable in your new quarters;” and he escorted them to the miniature Himalaya train which stood at the end of the shed ready to ascend skyward.
Miss Winchester at once dubbed it “The Fly Express.”
Mrs. Cultus, looking over the top of one of the cars and then bending down to see inside, exclaimed: “Are we really to go up in—that thing? It’s a big toy, for little children.”
Miss Winchester at once crawled in; then peeping out like a bird in a cage: “I have already shrunk—it feels quite cozy.”
Adele did not much relish such close quarters, and asked: “Can’t we ride on top?”
Only the first-class coaches were inclosed; the second-class had low partitions; the third-class had seats in rows, open on all sides, covered overhead not unlike American trolleys in summer. The width of the train accommodated only three abreast, without any aisle; the car wheels were about eighteen inches high; the car floor, into which the wheels were set, was only a little over a foot above the ground. Sitting within, one could easily touch the ground with an umbrella. The engine appeared like a toy in dimensions, but it was very powerful; like a strong healthy boy who could successfully pull or push, but not very effective for sprinting.