“What is it?” he inquired of the porter, who had drawn his head back into the car.
“I don't know, sir,” the negro answered. “Something must be wrong ahead. We never slow up till we get to the crossing.” He hurriedly left the car, and Fred followed. Outside there was a rushing to and fro of trainmen with flags and lanterns, a jumble of calls in stentorian tones, the slow clanging of the locomotive's bell, the exhausting of steam. The porter ran to the porter of the car ahead, and came back to where Walton stood waiting on the step.
“Freight-train knocked all to smash in the edge of town,” he explained. “Nobody hurt, but it is sure to hold us here awhile.”
“We'll have to stop, then!” Fred exclaimed, fearing a vague something which seemed to hover, like a threat, in the air about him. At that moment he gave way to the superstitious feeling that it was the direct hand of Providence which had delayed him there, of all spots on the long journey.
“It looks like it now, sir,” the porter answered; and as he left, Walton turned and saw Whipple close beside him.
“Why, it won't make any difference to us,” the old man said, in evident wonder over his protégé's disappointment. “We'll be sound asleep in our berths. I don't know but what I'd kind o' like _one_ night's rest without so much jostle and motion. We can get a good breakfast in the dining-car in the morning, and go on our way as smooth as goose-grease.”
“Yes, yes,” Fred said. But the thought had come to him that they might be delayed till the next morning, and the idea of passing through his old home in the broad light of day was far from pleasant. What if he should actually meet his father or some officer of the law whose duty it would be to arrest him, right when he had begun to hope that he might ultimately earn his freedom?
Fred went back into the car, followed by the drowsy Whipple, and took a seat by a window. It was open, and by leaning out he could see the lights of Stafford. Under the skies he had known as a child, on the same hillsides, they blazed and beckoned. Suppressing a groan, he told himself that he would go to bed and try to sleep; but he delayed, held in his place by some weird charm. At ten o'clock, when Whipple was stowed away, Fred went out of the car once more. On the sidetrack he met the conductor.