Bressant removed his feet from the extra seat, and, the conductor having reversed it, the lady and gentleman took their places. As for the boy with the green bag and the blue-spotted handkerchief, he was nowhere to be seen; he must have left the train at a previous station.
The train had stopped, and Bressant, glancing out of the window, saw that they were at some large railway-junction.
"How far are we from New York?" he asked of the conductor, with his hand to his ear to catch the reply.
"Be there in two hours," shouted back that gentleman, in reply.
"When does the next train go through here in the opposite direction?"
"We're just awaiting for one to come along and give us the track—and there she is now," returned the conductor, as he took his departure.
The whistle screamed malevolently, and, with a jerk and a rattle, the car began to move off. Bressant rose suddenly from his seat, walked quickly along the aisle to the door, passed through to the platform, grasped the iron balustrade with one hand, and swung himself lightly to the ground. The whistle screamed again like a disappointed fiend.
"Guess that young man was up late last night," remarked the conductor to the brakeman; "a powerful sound sleep he was in, anyhow."
"Off on a spree to New York, most like," responded the brakeman, tightening his dirty-brown tippet around his neck, "and thought better of it at the last minute."