“Is this train going to New York?” she inquired of the brakeman.
“Yes,” answered the man, regarding her rather curiously; “want to get on?”
“I—I haven’t any ticket,” faltered Gretel; “I’ve got the money for one, but the station is shut up.”
“You can pay on the train,” the man assured her. “Hurry up if you want to get on board; we only stop here one minute.”
Without another word, Gretel hastily mounted the steps of one of the cars, the brakeman good-naturedly helping her with her suit-case, glancing behind him at the same time, as though in expectation of more passengers.
“Going to New York all by yourself?” he inquired in some surprise.
Gretel nodded.
“Pretty early in the morning to be going to town, ain’t it? Expecting somebody to meet you at the Grand Central?”
“I am going to some friends in New York,” said Gretel, and there was so much dignity in her tone, that the brakeman decided she must be able to take care of herself, and asked no further questions.
“It’s quite true, I am going to friends,” Gretel told herself, as she sank into an empty seat. “Mrs. Lipheim is my friend, and so is Fritz. I know they’ll both be glad to see me, even if they didn’t invite me, and I haven’t heard from them in such a long time.”