To his horror he recollected that he had left both coat and waistcoat behind him in his cell, and with them his pocket-book, money, keys, watch, matches, pencil-case—all that makes life worth living, all that distinguishes the many-pocketed animal, the lord of creation, from the inferior one-pocketed or no-pocketed productions that hop or trip about permissively, unequipped for the real contest.
In his misery he made one desperate effort to carry the thing off, and, with a return to his fine old manner—a blend of the Squire and the College Don—he said, “Look here! I find I’ve left my purse behind. Just give me that ticket, will you, and I’ll send the money on to-morrow? I’m well-known in these parts.”
The clerk stared at him and the rusty black bonnet a moment, and then laughed. “I should think you were pretty well known in these parts,” he said, “if you’ve tried this game on often. Here, stand away from the window, please, madam; you’re obstructing the other passengers!”
An old gentleman who had been prodding him in the back for some moments here thrust him away, and, what was worse, addressed him as his good woman, which angered Toad more than anything that had occurred that evening.
Baffled and full of despair, he wandered blindly down the platform where the train was standing, and tears trickled down each side of his nose. It was hard, he thought, to be within sight of safety and almost of home, and to be baulked by the want of a few wretched shillings and by the pettifogging mistrustfulness of paid officials. Very soon his escape would be discovered, the hunt would be up, he would be caught, reviled, loaded with chains, dragged back again to prison and bread-and-water and straw; his guards and penalties would be doubled; and O, what sarcastic remarks the girl would make! What was to be done? He was not swift of foot; his figure was unfortunately recognisable. Could he not squeeze under the seat of a carriage? He had seen this method adopted by schoolboys, when the journey-money provided by thoughtful parents had been diverted to other and better ends. As he pondered, he found himself opposite the engine, which was being oiled, wiped, and generally caressed by its affectionate driver, a burly man with an oil-can in one hand and a lump of cotton-waste in the other.
“Hullo, mother!” said the engine-driver, “what’s the trouble? You don’t look particularly cheerful.”
“O, sir!” said Toad, crying afresh, “I am a poor unhappy washerwoman, and I’ve lost all my money, and can’t pay for a ticket, and I must get home to-night somehow, and whatever I am to do I don’t know. O dear, O dear!”
“That’s a bad business, indeed,” said the engine-driver reflectively. “Lost your money—and can’t get home—and got some kids, too, waiting for you, I dare say?”
“Any amount of ’em,” sobbed Toad. “And they’ll be hungry—and playing with matches—and upsetting lamps, the little innocents!—and quarrelling, and going on generally. O dear, O dear!”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the good engine-driver. “You’re a washerwoman to your trade, says you. Very well, that’s that. And I’m an engine-driver, as you well may see, and there’s no denying it’s terribly dirty work. Uses up a power of shirts, it does, till my missus is fair tired of washing of ’em. If you’ll wash a few shirts for me when you get home, and send ’em along, I’ll give you a ride on my engine. It’s against the Company’s regulations, but we’re not so very particular in these out-of-the-way parts.”