“I like that engine,” said Paul, “he’s chunky, but tough; I guess we’ll get there all right.”
The luggage was carried on platform trucks, covered with tarpaulins; and this whole remarkable cortége was capable of advancing at the reckless speed of eight miles an hour.
Some French tourists at once took places in “the first,” hereby assuming the usual American prerogative to pay more and receive less than was due. Mrs. Cultus entered the same apartment, as she required protection on account of her health and some one constantly in attendance. Thus cooped up, Mrs. Cultus, Miss Winchester, and the Frenchmen, made a coterie of their own; Mrs. Cultus somewhat uneasy lest the movement of the train might deposit a Frenchman in her lap at any moment. The ladies, intensely curious, thrust their heads through the little windows, like children on an excursion; the Professor called, “Look out!”
Mrs. Cultus quickly drew in her head.
A Frenchman instantly asked, most politely in manner:
“What have you, Madame? Monsieur said, ‘Look out!’”
“But he meant just the opposite,” quoth Mrs. Cultus.
“Hein! what a diabolical language!”
Miss Winchester here made a double addition to her collection. Adele, since her mother was comfortably settled, began looking around to locate herself; she espied a place just suited to her ideas, at the rear of the train, on the last trolley truck. She and Paul perched themselves on a good square trunk, and were not visible to those in front when the Flyer showed symptoms of flying. This resulted in the Professor and Doctor Wise being greatly puzzled to know “what had become of those children.”
The whistle gave a Himalaya shriek, and the foremost coaches commenced to joggle before the “children” were discovered. In the hurry there was nothing for the dignified elders to do but to scramble on, as best they could, the same truck with Adele and Paul.