The suitcase, the buckle of which had caught in the meshes of the rack, giving way, came down unexpectedly and with a thump on the seat. The captain hurriedly lifted it. A stifled laugh from the occupants of adjacent seats reached Serena's ears.
“What is it?” she demanded impatiently. “Aren't you coming? Do hurry.”
“I—I'm comin',” stammered her husband, thrusting his fist into the new hat which, as it lay on the seat, had received the weight of the falling suitcase. “I'm comin'. Go ahead! I'll be right along.”
He pounded the battered “derby” into more or less presentable shape, clapped it on his head, and, suitcase in hand, followed his wife.
Through the crowd on the platform they passed, through the waiting room and out to the sidewalk. There Captain Dan put down the case, gave the maltreated hat a brush with his sleeve, and looked about him.
“Lively place, ain't it, Serena?” he observed. “Whew! that valise is heavy. Well, where's the next port of call?”
“We'll go to the hotel first. Oh, dear, it's a shame things happened so we had to come now. In another fortnight the Blacks would have been here and we could have gone right to their house. Mrs. Black felt dreadfully about it. She said so ever so many times.”
The captain made no answer. If he had doubts concerning the depths of the Blacks' sorrow he kept them to himself. Picking up the suitcase, he stepped forward to the curb.
“Where are you going?” demanded his wife.
“Why, to the hotel. That's where you wanted to go, wasn't it?”