“Not on this train. Better come and sit with us and we’ll turn a seat over.”
Fortunately for that project, the car they entered was no more than half filled, and soon, having stowed their suitcases in the rack overhead, they settled down, Bob and Martin taking the front seat and Joe and the stranger the other, the latter placing his kit-bag, which was too large for the rack, between his feet. As soon as they were settled the train started.
“By the way,” said Joe, “my name’s Myers, and this is Newhall and this is Proctor.”
The other acknowledged the introductions with a smile. “Very glad to know you,” he said. “My name’s Harmon.”
“Joe says you’re going to Kenly,” observed Bob, trying hard to keep pity out of his voice.
“Yes, I’m just entering.” There was an embarrassed silence after that while the train rumbled its way through the tunnel. Then:
“Well, everyone to his taste,” murmured Martin. Joe frowned rebukingly and Martin grinned back.
“Guess you chaps don’t think much of Kenly,” said Harmon with a laugh.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to Mart,” said Bob. “Kenly’s all right, I guess. She licked us last year, 14 to 6. Beat us at hockey, too.”