So, taking up her load, she moved towards a refreshment room and procured a bun. A wistful little face, with hollow eyes, was peering at her through the open doorway and gazing longingly at the food.
Ever sensitive to the call of need, the warm-hearted girl rose and handed the untasted bun to the famished-looking lad, who had hardly time to make a rude nod and utter thank ye' before one of the porters gave him a gentle push, and said, "Come, youngster, get out o' this. We can't do with beggars in the station."
The child, only too glad to escape, was off like an arrow, and Lizzie sat down to discuss another bun in the place of the one she had given away. She then paid her twopence, and was going out of the refreshment room with a very unsatisfied feeling when she suddenly remembered that she had just another penny loose in a small outside jacket pocket. This time she chose a different kind of bun, and when she had eaten it found, to her horror, that the price of it was twopence, and that when it was paid for she would not have sufficient money left to purchase her railway-ticket.
Lizzie picked up her parcels and went out of the refreshment room, feeling half-perplexed, half-amused at the position in which she found herself. "What would mamma think if she knew that I was wandering about here at a railway-station in London, and with only three-pence in my pocket? Actually unable to go on my way for want of a penny. What shall I do for two more halfpennies? Poor mamma! She would fancy all kinds of horrors—that I should be kidnapped, perhaps, for she seemed to think that Edith ought to keep me close at her side under all circumstances. Five minutes to train time. Something must be done."
What Lizzie did was to indulge in a hearty laugh first of all, and whilst these thoughts were passing through her mind. The next thing was to go towards the window, at which a boy-clerk was giving out tickets. The boy was looking excessively cross, and he did his work in a morose fashion, without uttering a word, unless compelled to reply to a question, which he did as briefly as possible. The fact was he had made a mistake in giving change to a passenger early in the day, and had been obliged to make up the deficiency out of his own pocket, in accordance with rules.
Lizzie explained her position to this youngster, after peeping over his shoulder to see if there was any older person in the office to whom she might appeal.
"Can't help it. Ticket's fourpence," was the sullen reply.
"But I have told you I am just a penny short. If you will let me have a ticket, I will leave something with you worth many shillings. This silk umbrella, my silver pencil-case, or one of my parcels. You can look inside."
For a moment the sullen face relaxed; but no, the young clerk was in a savage mood, and determined to revenge himself on all the other passengers who might come to him for the dishonesty of that one who had gone off with more than his lawful change. He therefore shook his head, and gruffly said, "Booking-offices are not pawnshops."
No other reply could Lizzie get, and she turned from the little window with a slight quiver of the lip, which told of a little sinking of the heart at the thought of her predicament. To add to her discomfort, the train by which she should have gone on, came in and went without her. There would be another in a few minutes; after that a very long interval. She must make an effort to obtain a penny, if she even begged for it. She was far too tired to walk the weary miles between her and home, had she known the way, and it would be a very expensive cab ride. Edith would certainly scold her roundly if she were to use that mode of conveyance. She must not think of it.