Unsociable Fellow-Travellers.
The train by which Maynard travelled made stop at the Sydenham Station, to connect with the Crystal Palace.
The stoppage failed to arouse him from the reverie into which he had fallen—painful after what had passed.
He was only made aware of it on hearing voices outside the carriage, and only because some of these seemed familiar.
On looking out, he saw upon the platform a party of ladies and gentlemen.
The place would account for their being there at so late an hour—excursionists to the Crystal Palace—but still more, a certain volubility of speech, suggesting the idea of their having dined at the Sydenham Hotel.
They were moving along the platform, in search of a first-class carriage for London.
As there were six of them, an empty one would be required—the London and Brighton line being narrow gauge.
There was no such carriage, and therefore no chance of them getting seated together. The dining party would have to divide.
“What a baw!” exclaimed the gentleman who appeared to act as the leader, “a dooced baw! But I suppose there’s no help for it. Aw—heaw is a cawage with only one in it?”