“All right,” said the station-master. And the instrument ticked on. Carl and Trevor sat by the stove and held their feet and hands to the grateful warmth. They were too tired, too dejected to talk. The engineer and conductor of the waiting freight eyed them curiously but kindly. Finally the latter asked:
“How you boys going to get to Hillton?”
“Walk,” answered Carl with a faint smile. “How far is it from here?”
“Twelve miles.”
The two lads looked at each other and groaned.
“Well, I don’t care so much, now that I’ve got thawed out a bit,” said Trevor. “How far do you think we have walked?”
“I guess it’s about three miles from Whitely here.”
“At that rate,” commented Carl dismally, “it will take us two hours longer to reach Hillton. And”—he glanced at the station clock—“it’s now twenty after six; say half-past eight.” The engineer and conductor were exchanging glances of amusement. Finally the conductor spoke again:
“Well, I guess we can fix it so as you won’t have to walk. The through freight will be here in seven minutes, and I guess they’ll give you a lift. If they don’t you can ride down with us, although we won’t get there much before seven. We’re slow but sure, we are; twenty-eight cars of coal and a caboose.”