1909
It began to snow half an hour after the train started--a fine-grained,
slanting, determined snow that forced its way between the bellows of the
vestibules, and deposited itself in mounds of powdered salt all over the
platforms and steps. Even the porter had caught some puffs on his
depot coat with the red cape, and so had the conductor, from the way he
thrashed his cap on the back of the seat in front of mine. “Yes,
gettin' worse,” he said in answer to an inquiring lift of my eyebrows.
“Everything will be balled up if this keeps on.”
“Shall we make the connection at Bondville?” I was to lecture fifty
miles from Bondville Junction, and had but half an hour lee-way.
If the man with the punch heard, he made no answer. The least said
the soonest mended in crises like this. If we arrived on time every
passenger would grab his bag and bolt out without thanking him or the
road, or the engineer who took the full blast of the storm on his chest
and cheeks. If we missed the connection, any former hopeful word would
only add another hot coal to everybody's anger.