It was new country to him and he had already seen much that interested and amused him. It was difficult to realize that Washington, with its Northern airs, was but thirty miles behind them. With the crossing of the ice-filmed Potomac they had apparently passed from the world of hurry and bustle and impatience into one of languor, softness and relaxation. It seemed that with every mile they dropped behind them a year went, too. The difference had been made apparent by little incidents. Soon after they had entered the train the conductor discovered Phillip’s presence and had shaken hands, calling him Phil, and later taking his place beside him and relating news of things and persons for quite half an hour. He was introduced to John as Major Fairburn. After he had left them to gallantly help a lady and a little girl from the train, John learned that he had served through the war and had won his title of major for heroism with Pickett’s Division at Gettysburg.
“But, great Scott,” exclaimed John, “isn’t he capable of better stuff than conductoring on a little old two-by-twice railroad like this?”
“I reckon not,” replied Phillip. “I think he tried law for awhile down in Fredericksburg, but couldn’t make it go. You see, John, after the war——”
“Oh, hang the war!” said the other savagely. “I suppose the brakeman is at least a colonel, isn’t he? And the engineer’s a—a lieutenant-general?”
“N-no,” answered Phillip. “I don’t know the brakeman; the Major says he’s just been put on this run. But the engineer’s a man named Warren, who used to go to the University. His folks lost their money and their land——”
“During the war!”
“During the war; and so he took to running an engine because he’d rather do that than starve, I reckon. You see, John, we don’t think less of folks here because they run engine or brake, just so long as they’re gentlemen.”
“But that isn’t it,” answered the other irritably. “The point’s here: a fellow that had it in him to win promotion in your confounded war must have it in him to do something better than railroad work. Can’t you see that?”
“Some of them farm,” answered Phillip, “but, of course, the most of them drifted away to other places after the war was over. Some of our folks went West and stayed there. But—I reckon fellows like the Major and Warren didn’t like leaving home; I know I shouldn’t. I reckon I’d have stayed and done the best I could.”
“Home be blowed! The chap that does stunts in the world is the chap that hasn’t got any home. His home’s where his toothbrush is. Your Major had no business thinking about home. He ought to have gone off and scratched gravel somewhere and made something of himself.”