B., however, refuses to entertain this theory, and says he wishes I would not talk so much when I see how harassed he is. That’s all the thanks I get for trying to help him.
He worries along for another five minutes, and then he discovers a train that gets to Heidelberg all right, and appears to be in most respects a model train, the only thing that can be urged against it being that it does not start from anywhere.
It seems to drop into Heidelberg casually and then to stop there. One expects its sudden advent alarms the people at Heidelberg station. They do not know what to make of it. The porter goes up to the station-master, and says:
“Beg pardon, sir, but there’s a strange train in the station.”
“Oh!” answers the station-master, surprised, “where did it come from?”
“Don’t know,” replies the man; “it doesn’t seem to know itself.”
“Dear me,” says the station-master, “how very extraordinary! What does it want?”
“Doesn’t seem to want anything particular,” replies the other. “It’s a curious sort of train. Seems to be a bit dotty, if you ask me.”
“Um,” muses the station-master, “it’s a rum go. Well, I suppose we must let it stop here a bit now. We can hardly turn it out a night like this. Oh, let it make itself comfortable in the wood-shed till the morning, and then we will see if we can find its friends.”
At last B. makes the discovery that to get to Heidelberg we must go to Darmstadt and take another train from there. This knowledge gives him renewed hope and strength, and he sets to work afresh—this time, to find trains from Munich to Darmstadt, and from Darmstadt to Heidelberg.