The face cleared. “All right, Hugh—It’s the President of the Road you ’re carrying, you know.”
“Aye—It ’s Sim Tetlow—I know,” said Hugh. He opened the lever a little.
The young man hurried toward the car.
“All right!” asked Simeon as he came in. The train was in slow motion.
“All right,” said John.
Supper was brought in and they ate it leisurely, watching the light change and fade upon the hills and darkness settle down outside. Simeon’s eyes came back to the young man’s face. “I mean to know this country,” he said, “every mile of it.”
The young man smiled a little. “Don’t you know it now!”
“I don’t know anything,” said Simeon. “I was born last night.—I was born last night,” he said looking at the black window in a reverie. “Who lives along here?” He nodded toward the darkness. “What kind of people!”
John peered out. “Winchendon, we just passed, was n’t it? I don’t know. I’ve never been here.”
“Ever lived outside of Bridgewater!” said Simeon.