In an instant his decision was taken. At the peril of life and garments he scrambled down the rocky bank, picking as he went an empty first-class compartment, and just as the train began to move again he swung himself up and sprang into a carriage.
Unfortunately he had chosen the wrong one in his haste, and as he opened the door he saw a comical vision of a stout little old gentleman huddling into the farther corner in the most dire consternation.
“Who are you, sir? What do you want, sir?” spluttered the old gentleman. “If you come any nearer me, sir—one step, sir!—I shall instantly communicate with the guard! I have no money about me. Go away, sir!”
“I regret to learn that you have no money,” replied Mr Bunker, imperturbably; “but I am sorry that I am not at present in a condition to offer a loan.”
He sat down and smiled amicably, but the little gentleman was not to be quieted so easily. Seeing that no violence was apparently intended, his fright changed into respectable indignation.
“You needn’t try to be funny with me, sir. You are committing an illegal act. You have placed yourself in an uncommonly serious position, sir.”
“Indeed, sir?” replied Mr Bunker. “I myself should have imagined that by remaining on the rails I should have been much more seriously situated.”
The old gentleman looked at him like an angry small dog that longs to bite if it only dared.
“What is the meaning of this illegal intrusion?” he demanded. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
“I had the misfortune, sir,” explained Mr Bunker, politely, “to drop my hat out of the window of a neighbouring carriage. While I was picking it up the train started, and I had to enter the first compartment I could find. I am sorry that my entry frightened you.”