Quatremain nodded, and vanished in the crowd. He understood nothing of
what was toward, but he suspected that what he was about to do would
somehow interfere with the President's plans, and that was sufficient to
make him run when he was well out of sight. He found Brockway in the
telegraph office, writing a message, with the slope-shouldered gentleman
at his elbow, and delivered Mrs. Burton's message _verbatim_ and shorn
of any introduction whatsoever.
The effect on the passenger agent was surprising, if not explanatory.
"Says I'm going to be--Not if I know it! I say, Tom"--flinging
the pad of blanks at the operator, to call his attention--"wire
anything--everything--this gentleman wants you to; I'm off!"
"But, Mr. ah--Brockway, I--I protest!" buzzed the gadfly, clutching at
the passenger agent; but he was not quick enough, and when the protest
was formulated, there was no one but the operator to listen to it.
The engine-bell was ringing and the train had begun to move when
Brockway dashed out of the office, and the appreciative bystanders made
way for him and cheered him as he sped away across the platform. It was
neck-and-neck, and nothing to choose; but he was making it easily, when
he collided squarely in mid career with the tall figure of the
President. For a single passionate instant Mr. Francis Vennor forgot his
traditions, and struck out savagely at the passenger agent. The blow
caught Brockway full in the chest and made him gasp and stagger; but he
gathered himself quickly, swerved aside, and ran on, catching the rear
hand-rail of the last car as the train swept out of the station.
XVII
ON THE NARROW-GAUGE
For a certain breath-cutting minute after he had made good his grasp on
the hand-rails of the rear car, Brockway was too angry to congratulate
himself. A blow, even though it be given by a senior, and that senior
the father of the young woman with whom one chances to be in love, is
not to be borne patiently save by a philosopher or a craven, and
Brockway was far enough from being either the one or the other.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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