“Here you are,” replied Steele, drawing a crisp bill from his purse.
The engineer thrust it into the pocket of his greasy overalls.
“I’ll toot the whistle when I’m ready,” he said.
This financial operation accomplished, John Steele returned to the station. The station-master was standing by the door of the waiting-room conversing pleasantly with someone within. When Steele entered the room he was amazed to see so pretty a girl sitting on the bench that ran round the bare walls of the uninviting apartment.
“Will you introduce me?” inquired the city man, handing his card to the station-master.
“Miss Dorothy Slocum,” said the latter, “this is Mr. John Steele, of Chicago.”
The young man removed his fashionable straw hat.
“Miss Slocum,” he said, “I desire to apologise to you. I’m afraid that when I found myself stranded on the platform outside, I used language which can hardly be justified, even in the circumstances. But I had no idea at the time that there was a lady within miles of us.”
“I was much interested in my book,” replied the girl, with a smile, “and was not paying attention to what was going on outside.”
She held up the volume, between whose leaves her fore-finger was placed.