It was a short walk, and a silent one; but when they came in sight of the platform, Dab exclaimed,—
"There they are,—all of them!"
"The whole party?"
"Why, the platform's as crowded as our house was last night."
Mrs. Kinzer and her daughters were already the centre of a talkative crowd of young people; and Ford Foster and Frank Harley, with Joe and Fuz Hart, were asking what had become of Dab, for the train was in sight.
A moment later, as the puffing locomotive pulled up in front of the water-tank, the conductor stepped out on the platform, exclaiming,—
"Look a-here, folks, this ain't right. If there was going to be a picnic you ought to have sent word, and I'd have tacked on an extra car. You'll have to pack in now, best you can."
He seemed much relieved when he found how small a part of that crowd were to be his passengers.
"Dab," said Ford, "this is your send-off, not ours. You'll have to make a speech."
Dab did want to say something; but he had just kissed his sisters and his mother, and half a dozen of his school-girl friends had followed the example of Jenny Walters; and then Mrs. Foster had kissed him, and Ham Morris had shaken hands with him; and Dab could not have said a word to have saved his life.