The train left the depot and hurried away over the road which Bressant
had just traversed in the opposite direction. He sat with his arms
folded, appearing to take no notice of any thing, and his neighbor with
the wig read the latest edition of a New-York paper with stern
attention, occasionally altering the position of his stove-pipe hat on
his head. By-and-by, the conductor, a small, precise man, with a
dark-blue coat, cap to match, a neatly-trimmed sandy beard, shaved upper
lip, and an utterance as distinct and clippy as the holes his steel
punch made in the tickets, came along upon his rounds.
Bressant put his hands into his pockets, and discovered, with some
consternation, that he had but a comparatively small amount of money
left; his newly-accepted poverty was certainly losing no time in making
itself felt. However, such as it was, he handed it to the conductor, and
inquired how near it would take him to his proposed destination.
"Eighty-one miles, rail," responded the official, as he took and clipped
the ticket of the gentleman with the newspaper; "comes shorter by road,
seventy-four to seventy-five," and he proceeded down the aisle, snapping
up tickets on one side or the other, as a hen does grains of corn.
Bressant covered his eyes with his hand, and amused himself by
performing a little sum in mental arithmetic. The amount of money he had
given the conductor represented a distance which it would take a certain
length of time--say four hours--to traverse. It was now four o'clock in
the afternoon, and consequently would be eight before that distance was
accomplished. From eight o'clock Saturday night, till twelve o'clock
Sunday noon, was sixteen hours, and in sixteen hours he must travel, on
foot, and through the snow, seventy-five miles of unknown roads.
"Four and a half miles an hour, and nothing to eat since breakfast,"
said Bressant to himself. He took his hand from his eyes, and passed it
down his face to his beard, which he twisted and turned unmercifully.
"It's lucky it isn't any more," remarked he, philosophically.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account