Carroll looked up and smiled and nodded. “Well, yes,” he replied. “I find this my only way—read them all and strike an average. There is generally a kernel of truth in each.”
“That's so,” said Lee.
Carroll glanced speculatively at the ostentatiously squared shoulders of the other man as he passed through the car.
When the train reached Jersey City, Carroll, leaving his newspapers fluttering about the seat he had occupied, passed off the train and walked with his air of careless purpose along the platform.
“This road is a pretty poorly conducted concern,” said a voice behind him, and Lee came up hurriedly and joined him.
“Yes,” replied Carroll, tentatively. His was not the order of mind which could realize its own aggrandizement by wholesale criticism of a great railroad system for the sake of criticism, and, moreover, he had a certain pride and self-respect about maintaining the majesty of that which he must continue to patronize for his own ends.
“Yes,” said Lee, moving, as he spoke, with a sort of accelerated motion like a strut. He was a much shorter man than Carroll, and he made futile hops to get into step with him as they proceeded. “Yes, sir, every train through the twenty-four hours is late on this road.”
Carroll laughed. “I confess that rather suits me, on the whole. I am usually late myself.”
They walked together to the ferry-slip, and the boat was just going out.
“Always lose this boat,” grumbled Lee, importantly.