He took the bag of the gentleman across the aisle also and for the first time it occurred to Dan, as he followed his cursory acquaintance toward the door, that perhaps the other was for Yardley Hall, too; that perhaps he was one of the teachers. But out on the platform he abandoned that theory, for a smart man in automobile livery took the gentleman’s bag and led the way to a big chocolate-brown touring car, and almost before Dan had had time to look about him the car was whisking itself off down the road. Some thirty other boys of various ages had left the train, and Dan, uncertain of his directions, followed them down the platform to where a number of carriages were drawn up, the drivers vieing merrily and loudly for custom. Dan hesitated. He had had in the back of his head an idea that when he left the train there would be someone looking for him. The idea had not been sufficiently concrete for him to know now whether he had expected the Principal himself or merely the school janitor. While he hesitated the other arrivals rushed for the carriages and tumbled themselves in after their luggage and in a twinkling the conveyances were all filled to overflowing and Dan alone remained on the platform, bag in hand, looking somewhat blankly about him. Several of the carriages—tiny affairs they were, holding not more than seven fellows no matter how you packed them in—had already started away when a voice hailed him from one of the remaining vehicles and a boy’s head was thrust out of the door.
“Hi, there, you chap! Coming up?”
Dan supposed that “up” meant to Yardley Hall; and of course he was coming up if he could get up, but—
“Come on in here,” called the boy. “Lot’s of room! Hold your horses, Mike!”
The driver, seated on a pile of bags and suit-cases where his seat had once been, had chirped encouragingly to his horse, but at the command he called “Whoa!” and the horse obeyed instantly, one might say almost with enthusiasm. A chorus of loud and long drawn-out “Whoas!” supplemented the driver’s injunction. Dan strode across and looked doubtfully into the interior of the carriage. At first glance there seemed dozens of occupants, but—
“Climb in,” said his rescuer merrily. “Give me your bag. Here, Tubby, hold the gentleman’s bag.” The bag was passed forward by eager hands until it was deposited unceremoniously in the lap of a stout, round-faced youth who showed no pleasure at the honor conferred upon him.
“Hold the old bag yourself,” he growled.
“Why, Tubby,” cried an outraged voice. “Such manners! I am surprised! Hold it nicely; be a gentleman, Tubby, even if it hurts you.”
“I—I’ll stand up,” said Dan as he pushed his way between the almost touching knees of the occupants. But that was out of the question, for the roof was too low to permit of it.