“I’m afraid I might,” was the trembling answer.
“Well, I’ll tell you what—stay all night; you can have Tom’s room, as he is visiting uncle and aunt up in the country. Yes, occupy Tom’s room. Excuse me a minute, and I’ll just run up and see if it’s in order.”
The young lady fled gracefully upstairs to see if any tidying was necessary. In five minutes she came down to announce that the room was in readiness, but no Charles was in sight. In a very few minutes, however, he appeared, dripping wet and out of breath from running and with a bundle in a newspaper under his arm.
The nice young lady greeted him with: “Why, Charles, where have you been?”
“Been home after my night shirt,” was his reply, as he hung his hat up to drip.
* * *
That train smokes a lot.
Yes, and choos, too.