"I sort of had to," said the actress, turning in the corridor to say good night. "You—you get kinder desperate for them after two years. Thanks, ma'am, ever so." She glided away, leaving Mrs. Lester with tears in her eyes.
All night long the train, with its sleeping freight, rushed and roared through the desert country, passing over dreary leagues of sand and sparse scrub. Sometimes the unfamiliarity of his surroundings woke Dick, to lie drowsily for a moment in the dim light that filtered through the fanlight from the corridor; then to float back lazily through the gates of sleep. He woke in earnest about six o'clock and, slipping out of bed, peeped through the window. The train was standing in a wayside station.
"Tailem Bend," read Dick. "What a rummy name. I say, we must be in South Australia. Great Scot! there's a camel!"
"'Great Scot! There's a camel!'"
There was a string of camels tied to the station fence, all scientifically packed with bales and bundles, their heads drooping sleepily. The unfamiliar sight made the morning more than ever like a dream. A tall, weather-beaten man in moleskins and a red shirt was knotting the halter of the leading camel; his mate was wrangling with the station-master about some parcel that should have been awaiting him, but had failed to turn up. Dick heard the official say angrily, "Well, you'll have to wait till the express goes out, anyhow. I'm busy."
"And ain't I busy?" demanded the man. "Ain't I got the camels waiting, an' high time we was on the track? Blow yer old express."
But the railway man had fled, and the man of camels could only glare after his retreating back and mutter what he felt.
The conductor came past as the train gathered way, and nodded a civil "Good morning" to Dick, who had ventured into the corridor in his pyjamas to see if any other queer sights awaited him on that side of the line.