By some chance, however, ours was neglected, and
until the very last moment we seemed likely to escape. The guard's
whistle was between his lips when I heard a shout, then one or two
feminine screams, and a company of seven or eight persons came
charging out of the booking-office. Every one of them was apparelled
in black: they were, in fact, the people I had seen gaping at the
Punch-and-Judy show.
In a moment one of the men tore open the door of our compartment, and
we were invaded. One--two--four--six--seven--in they poured, tumbling
over my legs, panting, giggling inanely, exhorting each other to
hurry--an old man, two youths, three middle-aged women, and a little
girl about four years old. I heard a fierce guttural sound, and saw my
fellow-passenger on his feet, choking with wrath and gesticulating.
But the guard slammed the door on his resentment, and the train moved
on. As it gathered speed he fell back, all purple above his stock,
snatched his malacca walking-cane from under the coat-tails of a
subsiding youth, stuck it upright between his knees, and glared round
upon the intruders.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101