"Can you tell us when we can get a train for Brimfield?" he asked.
"Brimfield? Yes, there's one at seven-twelve and one at nine-forty-six."
"I guess we couldn't get the seven-twelve," said Amy, glancing at the clock. "The other would be all right."
"I ain't sure if that one stops at Brimfield, though. Say, Pete, does the nine-forty-six stop at Brimfield?"
"No," replied a man at another table. "Express to New York."
"You're wrong," volunteered a third. "It runs accommodation from here on Sundays."
"That's so," agreed the other. "I'd forgot."
Amy thanked his informant and at that moment the proprietor, who had been in and out taking orders, appeared with the boys' breakfasts. The baked beans and the hash were sizzling hot and looked delicious, and the coffee commanded instant attention. A plate piled with thick slices of bread and two small pats of very yellow butter completed the repast. For five minutes by the clock not a word was said at that table. Then, having ordered a second cup of coffee apiece, the boys found time to pause.
"Gee, but that was good!" murmured Amy. "I suppose I must have eaten awfully fast, for I don't seem to want those eggs now."
"How about the crullers?" asked Clint.