By-and-by, the conductor, a small, precise man, with a
dark-blue coat, cap to match, a neatly-trimmed sandy beard, shaved upper
lip, and an utterance as distinct and clippy as the holes his steel
punch made in the tickets, came along upon his rounds.
Bressant put his hands into his pockets, and discovered, with some
consternation, that he had but a comparatively small amount of money
left; his newly-accepted poverty was certainly losing no time in making
itself felt. However, such as it was, he handed it to the conductor, and
inquired how near it would take him to his proposed destination.
"Eighty-one miles, rail," responded the official, as he took and clipped
the ticket of the gentleman with the newspaper; "comes shorter by road,
seventy-four to seventy-five," and he proceeded down the aisle, snapping
up tickets on one side or the other, as a hen does grains of corn.
Bressant covered his eyes with his hand, and amused himself by
performing a little sum in mental arithmetic. The amount of money he had
given the conductor represented a distance which it would take a certain
length of time--say four hours--to traverse. It was now four o'clock in
the afternoon, and consequently would be eight before that distance was
accomplished.
Pages:
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412