“I have been perusing this evil work with horror,” he replied. “Some worldly sinner left it on the seat. Perhaps it is yours, sir?”
The conductor reddened with anger, and some of the passengers laughed aloud. The missionary folded his hands with a smile of triumph, and looked out of the window.
Meanwhile the lad had restored the roll of bills to his pocketbook, and in one of the compartments of the latter he found the missing ticket. As the conductor took it he leaned over and said:
“Keep an eye on that rascal yonder. He’s no more a missionary than you or I.”
Then he hurried on to the next car.
A few moments later scattered lights appeared through the frosty windows, and finally the vague outlines of houses and streets.
“Bangor!” shrieked the brakeman.
The announcement created a stir and bustle among the passengers. The train soon rolled into a lofty station. The lad gathered up his traps, hurriedly left the car, pressed through the crowd, and gained the lighted street.
Here he paused for a moment, remembering the conductor’s warning. But he could see nothing of the clerical-looking individual, though he carefully scanned the passers.
“I’ve seen the last of that chap,” he muttered. “Perhaps he was a missionary, after all. Well, I can’t lose any more time here. Thanks to Tom Fordham, I’ve got my bearings pretty straight. I’ll bet Tom wishes he was with me now. I fancy I can see him grinding away at old Herodotus by lamplight.”