So engrossed was he in his day-dreams that he forgot that even country trains are occasionally punctual, and that, at least, he had not much time left him to catch the one he aimed at. Indeed, it was not till, within a few minutes of the station, he caught sight of the train already standing at the platform that it occurred to him to bestir himself. He ran, shouted, and waved his arm all at the same time, but to no effect. The whistle blew as he entered the yard, and as he reached the platform the guard’s van was gliding out of the station.
Thoroughly ruffled—for this was the last train to town—Mr Ratman vented his wrath on the world in general, and the railway officials in particular, even including in his objurgations an unlucky passenger who had arrived by the train and shared with him the uninterrupted possession of the platform.
“Easy, young man,” said the latter, a substantial-looking, bony individual with a wrinkled face, and speaking with a decided American twang. “You’ll hurt yourself, I reckon, if you talk like that. It’s bad for the jaws.”
Mr Ratman took a contemptuous survey of the stranger and quitted the platform.
His first idea was to return to Maxfield and demand entertainment there for the night. But since he would have to walk all the way, and the first train in the morning left Yeld at eight, he decided to put up at the little hotel of the village instead, and with that object threw himself and his bag into the omnibus of that establishment which waited on the trains.
Somewhat to his disgust, the stranger, after collecting his baggage, entered the same vehicle and took a seat opposite him.
“Wal,” said he, “you’ll have time to cool down before the next train, young man. Putting up at the hotel?”
“Where else should I put up?” growled Ratman. “What business is it of yours?”
“I guess it’s my business to get all the information I can on this trip. I came over this side to learn.”
“You’ve come to a queer hole to do it,” said Ratman, beginning to feel he might as well resign himself to circumstances.