By this time a woman and two children were shrieking at us hysterically; but what they said I had no idea, their Italian being of a strange and awful nature. "Look here," I said, "let's run; perhaps our watches are both slow." "Or--perhaps the time-table is changed." Then we ran, and the populace cheered and shouted with enthusiasm; our dignified run became a panic-stricken rout, for as we turned into the lane, smoke was rising from beyond the bank that hid the railroad; a bell rang; we were so near that we could hear the interrogative _Pronte?_ the impatient _Partenza!_ and the definitive _Andiamo!_ But the train was five hundred yards away, steaming towards Naples, when we plunged into the station as the clock struck six, and yelled for the station-master. He came, and we indulged in crimination and recrimination. When we could regard the situation calmly, it became apparent that the time-table _had_ been changed two days before, the 6.11 now leaving at 5.58. A _facchino_ came in, and we four sat down and regarded the situation judicially. "Was there any other train?" "No." "Could we stay at the Albergo del Sole?" A forefinger drawn across the throat by the Capo Stazione with a significant "cluck" closed that question. "Then we must stay with you here at the station." "But, Signori, I am not married. I live here only with the _facchini_. I have only one room to sleep in. It is impossible!" "But we must sleep somewhere, likewise eat. What can we do?" and we shifted the responsibility deftly on the shoulders of the poor old man, who was growing excited again. He trotted nervously up and down the station for a minute, then he called the _facchino_. "Giuseppe, go up to the villa and ask if two _forestieri_ who have missed the last train can stay there all night!" Protests were useless. The _facchino_ was gone, and we waited anxiously for his return. It seemed as though he would never come. Darkness had fallen, and the moon was rising over the mountains. At last he appeared. "The Signori may stay all night, and welcome; but they cannot come to dinner, for there is nothing in the house to eat!" This was not reassuring, and again the old station-master lost himself in meditation. The results were admirable, for in a little time the table in the waiting-room had been transformed into a dining-table, and Tom and I were ravenously devouring a big omelette, and bread and cheese, and drinking a most shocking sour wine as though it were Château Yquem. A _facchino_ served us, with clumsy good-will; and when we had induced our nervous old host to sit down with us and partake of his own hospitality, we succeeded in forming a passably jolly dinner-party, forgetting over our sour wine and cigarettes the coming hours from ten until sunrise, which lay before us in a dubious mist.