The first-class smoking compartment was the emptiest in the whole
train, and even this was hot to suffocation, because my only companion
denied me more than an inch of open window. His chest, he explained
curtly, was "susceptible." As we crawled westward through the glaring
country, the sun's rays reverberated on the carriage roof till I
seemed to be crushed under an anvil, counting the strokes. I had
dropped my book, and was staring listlessly out of the window. At the
other end of the compartment my fellow-passenger had pulled down the
blinds, and hidden his face behind the _Western Morning News_. He
was a red and choleric little man of about sixty, with a protuberant
stomach, a prodigious nose, to which he carried snuff about once in
two minutes, and a marked deformity of the shoulders. For comfort--and
also, perhaps, to hide this hump--he rested his back in the angle
by the window. He wore a black alpaca coat, a high stock, white
waistcoat, and trousers of shepherd's plaid. On these and a few other
trivial details I built a lazy hypothesis that he was a lawyer, and
unmarried.
Just before entering the station at Lostwithiel, our train passed
between the white gates of a level crossing. A moment before I had
caught sight of the George drooping from the church spire, and at the
crossing I saw it was regatta-day in the small town. The road was
thick with people and lined with sweet-standings; and by the near end
of the bridge a Punch-and-Judy show had just closed a performance. The
orchestra had unloosed his drum, and fallen to mopping the back of his
neck with the red handkerchief that had previously bound the panpipes
to his chin. A crowd still loitered around, and among it I noted
several men and women in black--ugly stains upon the pervading
sunshine.
The station platform was cram-full as we drew up, and it was clear at
once that all the carriages in the train would be besieged, without
regard to class. 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. They were still possessed with excitement over
their narrow escape, and unconscious of offence. One of the women
dropped into the corner seat, and took the little girl on her lap. The
child's dusty boots rubbed against the old gentleman's trousers. He
shifted his position, grunted, and took snuff furiously.
"That was nibby-jibby," observed the old man of the party, while his
eyes wandered round for a seat.
"I declare I thought I should ha' died," panted a robust-looking woman
with a wart on her cheek, and a yard of crape hanging from her bonnet.
"Can't 'een find nowhere to sit, uncle?"
"Reckon I must make shift 'pon your lap, Susannah."
This was said with a chuckle, and the woman tittered.
"What new-fang'd game be this o' the Great Western's? Arms to the
seats, I vow. We'll have to sit intimate, my dears."
"'Tis First Class," one of the young men announced in a chastened
whisper: "I saw it written on the door."
There was a short silence of awe.
"Well!" ejaculated Susannah: "I thought, when first I sat down, that
the cushions felt extraordinary plum. You don't think they'll fine
us?"
"It all comes of our stoppin' to gaze at that Punch-an'-Judy," the old
fellow went on, after I had shown them how to turn back the arm-seats,
and they were settled in something like comfort. "But I never _could_
refrain from that antic, though I feels condemned too, in a way, an'
poor Thomas laid in earth no longer ago than twelve noon. But in the
midst of life we are in death."
"I don't remember a more successful buryin'," said the woman who held
the little girl.
"That was partly luck, as you may say, it bein' regatta-day an' the
fun o' the fair not properly begun. I counted a lot at the cemetery I
didn' know by face, an' I set 'em down for excursionists, that caught
sight of a funeral, an' followed it to fill up the time."
"It all added."
"Oh, aye; Thomas was beautifully interred."
By this time the heat in the carriage was hardly more overpowering
than the smell of crape, broadcloth, and camphor. The youth who had
wedged himself next to me carried a large packet of "fairing," which
he had bought at one of the sweet-stalls. He began to insert it into
his side pocket, and in his struggles drove an elbow sharply into my
ribs. I shifted my position a little.
"Tom's wife would ha' felt it a source o' pride, had she lived."
But I ceased to listen; for in moving I had happened to glance at the
further end of the carriage, and there my attention was arrested by
a curious little piece of pantomime. The little girl--a dark-eyed,
intelligent child, whose pallor was emphasised by the crape which
smothered her--was looking very closely at the old gentleman with the
hump--staring at him hard, in fact. He, on the other hand, was leaning
forward, with both hands on the knob of his malacca, his eyes bent on
the floor and his mouth squared to the surliest expression. He
seemed quite unconscious of her scrutiny, and was tapping one foot
impatiently on the floor.
After a minute I was surprised to see her lean forward and touch him
gently on the knee.
He took no notice beyond shuffling about a little and uttering a
slight growl. The woman who held her put out an arm and drew back
the child's hand reprovingly. The child paid no heed to this, but
continued to stare. Then in another minute she again bent forward, and
tapped the old gentleman's knee.
This time she fetched a louder growl from him, and an irascible glare.
Not in the least daunted, she took hold of his malacca, and shook it
to and fro in her small hand.
"I wish to heavens, madam, you'd keep your child to yourself!"
"For shame, Annie!" whispered the poor woman, cowed by his look.
But again Annie paid no heed. Instead, she pushed the malacca towards
the old gentleman, saying--
"Please, sir, will 'ee warm Mister Barrabel wi' this?"
He moved uneasily, and looked harshly at her without answering. "For
shame, Annie!" the woman murmured a second time; but I saw her lean
back, and a tear started and rolled down her cheek.
"If you please, sir," repeated Annie, "will 'ee warm Mister Barrabel
wi' this?"
The old gentleman stared round the carriage. In his eyes you could
read the question, "What in the devil's name does the child mean?" The
robust woman read it there, and answered him huskily--
"Poor mite! she's buried her father this mornin'; an' Mister Barrabel
is the coffin-maker, an' nailed 'en down."
"Now," said Annie, this time eagerly, "will 'ee warm him same as the
big doll did just now?"
Luckily, the old gentleman did not understand this last allusion. He
had not seen the group around the Punch-and-Judy show; nor, if he had,
is it likely he would have guessed the train of thought in the child's
mind. But to me, as I looked at my fellow-passenger's nose and the
deformity of his shoulders, and remembered how Punch treats the
undertaker in the immortal drama, it was all plain enough. I glanced
at the child's companions. Nothing in their faces showed that they
took the allusion; and the next moment I was glad to think that I
alone knew what had prompted Annie's speech.
For the next moment, with a beautiful change on his face, the old
gentleman had taken the child on his knee, and was talking to her as I
dare say he had never talked before.
"Are you her mother?" he asked, looking up suddenly, and addressing
the woman opposite.
"Her mother's been dead these two year. I'm her aunt, an' I'm takin'
her home to rear 'long wi' my own childer."
He was bending over Annie, and had resumed his chat. It was all
nonsense--something about the silver knob of his malacca--but it took
hold of the child's fancy and comforted her. At the next station I had
to alight, for it was the end of my journey. But looking back into
the carriage as I shut the door, I saw Annie bending forward over the
walking-stick, and following the pattern of its silverwork with her
small finger. Her face was turned from the old gentleman's, and behind
her little black hat his eyes were glistening.