“You’ve dropped a paper, sir,” he said to Dennis, to my utter astonishment, for I had seen no paper dropped. Dennis turned quickly, and picked up a letter which was lying on the platform behind him.
“I’m very much obliged, sir; thank you,” said Dennis, as he put the letter in his pocket.
“I never saw you drop that,” I exclaimed when we were safely out of earshot. “Did you?”
“There you are,” my friend cried triumphantly. “You were walking beside me and you didn’t spot it, and he was some distance away and he did; and you say he was half asleep.”
“I say, Den,” I exclaimed, laughing, “d’you think it’s going to be safe to travel on this train? I wonder where he’s going?”
Then we dismissed the man from our minds. The train was going in six minutes, and I joined the crowd round the rug and pillow barrow, and prepared to make myself comfortable. Leaving everything to the last minute, as most travellers do, we had a hurried stirrup-cup in view of the fact that I was about to “gang awa’,” and as the train glided out of the station Dennis turned to wire for my breakfast-basket at Crianlarich. The one thing that it is important to do when travelling on the West Highland Railway I had forgotten! We had not passed Potter’s Bar before I decided that it would be impossible to sleep, so I ferreted out the attendant and bribed him to put me into a first-class carriage. Better still, he showed me into a sleeper. I was dog-tired, and in ten minutes fell fast asleep. I awoke for a moment or two as the train snorted into a station and drew up. I dozed again for some time, and then the door of my sleeper opened and who should look in but “the American.”
“Say, I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed apologetically. “My mistake.”
“Not at all,” I replied. “Where are we now?” For the train was still standing.
“Edinburgh,” he answered. “Just leaving. Sorry to disturb you.”
I again assured him that there was no harm done, and he turned and left me, the tassels of his Jaeger dressing-gown trailing after him. Then I fell asleep again, and woke up as we left Whistlefield. I had finished my wretched ablutions—for an early morning wash on a train is always a wretched business—as we reached Crianlarich. I was not long in claiming my breakfast; and when the passengers in the refreshment-room had finished their coffee—which seems to be the time when the train is due to leave, and not vice-versâ, as might be expected—the guard was standing on the platform, flag in hand, on the point of blowing his whistle. Suddenly the head of the American shot out of the window of his carriage—no other expression describes it.