It was with a rather sickly smile that George now endeavoured to withdraw his arm from that of his companion, but the other would have none of this aloofness. He seemed to be in complete agreement with Shakespeare's dictum that a friend, when found, should be grappled to you with hooks of steel. He held George in a vise-like grip and drew him into a recess of the platform. He looked about him, and seemed satisfied.
'We are alone at last,' he said.
This fact had already impressed itself with sickening clearness on the young man. There are few spots in the civilized world more deserted than the platform of a small country station. The sun shone on the smooth asphalt, on the gleaming rails, and on the machine which, in exchange for a penny placed in the slot marked 'Matches', would supply a package of wholesome butter-scotch—but on nothing else.
What George could have done with at the moment was a posse of police armed with stout clubs, and there was not even a dog in sight.
'I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time,' said the stranger, genially.
'Huh-huh-have you?' said George.
'Yes. I want your opinion of human sacrifices.'
George said he didn't like them.
'Why not?' asked the other, surprised.
George said it was hard to explain. He just didn't.