“I do believe,” exclaimed his mother, “that child is going to the depot! Run after her! You and Johnny both run!”
The boys did their best, but Flaxie was already far ahead, and never once paused till she reached the station, where she nearly ran the baggage-master through the body with her little umbrella.
“Now look here, my little lady,” said he, catching her in his arms, “I ain’t used to being punched in this style, like a passenger-ticket; and you’d better stop to explain.”
“Oh, don’t hold me, don’t hold me! I’m going on the cars to my mamma. Let me go to my mamma!”
“Why, certainly,” said the man, winking to Johnny and Freddy, who had reached the platform and stood there panting. “To be sure! We let little girls go to their mothers. But you didn’t think of starting on ahead of the cars, did you?”
Flaxie looked bewildered.
“You see the cars haven’t come,” said Johnny, coaxingly. “You’d better go back with Freddy and me, and wait awhile.”
“No, no, no,” said Flaxie, brandishing her umbrella. The boys were too anxious to get her away, and she wouldn’t trust them.
“The cars won’t be here till two o’clock,” said the baggage-man. “Now I’d advise a nice little lady like you to eat your dinner before starting on a journey. Or would you like it any better to have me lock you up in the ladies’-room till two o’clock? But I should think you’d get rather hungry.”
He held up a big key as he spoke, and Flaxie gazed at it in dismay. Was this the way they treated little girls that wanted to go to see their mothers?