"Who speaks of engineers?" said a strong baritone voice as a weighty hand fell on my shoulder. "Are you here to take the train at Noisy?"
"Let the train go to Jericho! I am trying, on the contrary, to get away from it."
"Do you mean, then, to go on foot to Épernay?"
"What do you mean, Épernay?"
"Why, have you forgotten the feast of Saint Athanasius?"
"What do you mean, Athanasius?"
The baritone belonged to one of my friends, an engineer from Boston. He had an American commission to inspect the canals of Europe on the part of a company formed to buy out the Sound line of steamers and dig a ship-canal from Boston to Providence. The engineer had made his inspection the excuse for a few years of not disagreeable travel, during which time the company had exploded, its chief financier having cut his throat when his peculations came out to the public.
LOCOMONIAC POSSESSION.