“Are you sure you are not leading us astray, Cap?” Raysor asked of A. Pylor Koyn who had just stepped out into the mud.
“I will not turn back!” thundered A. Pylor Koyn. “I presume this is Snailsdale Manor, but in any case I will not turn back. If anybody can show me a house with a roof on it and something to eat inside it I will thank him. I’ve had enough of this! Where is the bus that was supposed to be here?”
“Look under the train,” said Chesty Marshall.
“It is not there,” said Fuller Bullson.
“Then we’ll walk!” said A. Pylor Koyn.
“We’re with you,” said Raysor Rackette.
By that time our suffering victims were assembled in a little group in the mud. The train was rumbling slowly away. Hink, the conductor, was continuing the dream that was appearing serially in his mind, punctuated by the stations.
“I understood that a bus from the Snailsdale House would be here,” said A. Pylor Koyn.
“Misfortunes seem to pile on us,” said Mrs. Gamer, almost at the point of despair. “We can never walk through this mud, and besides we don’t know where to walk.”
“All the better,” said Fuller Bullson; “we can’t go wrong if we don’t care where we go; my mother taught me that.”