'Eight-thirty,' was the porter's appalling reply.
For a moment Charteris felt quite ill. No train till eight-thirty! Then was he indeed lost. But it couldn't be true. There must be some sort of a train between now and then.
'Are you certain?' he said. 'Surely there's a train before that?'
'Why, yes, sir,' said the porter gleefully, 'but they be all exprusses. Eight-thirty be the only 'un what starps at Rootton.'
'Thanks,' said Charteris with marked gloom, 'I don't think that'll be
much good to me. My aunt, what a hole I'm in.'
The porter made a sympathetic and interrogative noise at the back of
his throat, as if inviting him to explain everything. But Charteris
felt unequal to conversation. There are moments when one wants to be
alone. He went down the steps again. When he got out into the road, his
small cycling friend had vanished. Charteris was conscious of a feeling
of envy towards her. She was doing the journey comfortably on a
bicycle. He would have to walk it. Walk it! He didn't believe he could.
The strangers' mile, followed by the Homeric combat with the two
Hooligans and that ghastly sprint to wind up with, had left him
decidedly unfit for further feats of pedestrianism. And it was eight
miles to Stapleton, if it was a yard, and another mile from Stapleton
to St Austin's. Charteris, having once more invoked the name of his
aunt, pulled himself together with an effort, and limped gallantly on
in the direction of Stapleton. But fate, so long hostile to him, at
last relented. A rattle of wheels approached him from behind. A thrill
of hope shot through him at the sound. There was the prospect of a
lift. He stopped, and waited for the dog-cart—it sounded like a
dog-cart—to arrive. Then he uttered a shout of rapture, and began to
wave his arms like a semaphore. The man in the dog-cart was Dr Adamson.
'Hullo, Charteris,' said the Doctor, pulling up his horse, 'what are you doing here?'
'Give me a lift,' said Charteris, 'and I'll tell you. It's a long yarn. Can I get in?'
'Come along. Plenty of room.'
Charteris climbed up, and sank on to the cushioned seat with a sigh of pleasure. What glorious comfort. He had never enjoyed anything more in his life.
'I'm nearly dead,' he said, as the dog-cart went on again. 'This is how it all happened. You see, it was this way—'