# Cupid En Route/Chapter 9
### IX

THEY pulled into Sherbrooke over an hour late with the snow falling busily out of a low and leaden sky. It was only a little more than half-past eight then, but Wade had been awake ever since six o’clock, and awake a good deal before that, and as soon as the train came to a stop in front of the station he was out and plowing through the snow the dining room. A cup of steaming hot coffee set him right and, preferring to eat his breakfast at his leisure, he transferred his bag to the New York sleeper. The Boston and Maine, with its proverbial solicitude for its patrons’ comfort and convenience, ran no sleeping car through from Boston to Quebec, but required passengers to arise in the early morning and change to the New York sleeper, thus acquiring ​exercise and a breath of fresh air, both of which are of course beneficial. If the New York sleeper was full, Boston passengers rode the rest of the distance to Quebec, a matter of five hours or so, in a day coach. This saved them money, and, in theory at least, taught patience and fortitude.
Luckily for Miss Pearse's party and for Wade, who proved to be the only passengers bound for Quebec, the New York sleeper offered this morning plenty of space. When Wade entered he found the quartette ensconced in a section at the farther end of the car from the seat assigned to him. Disposing of his bag and coat, he went down the aisle to find the porter and order breakfast. As he passed he sought Prue's eyes and found them, but they accorded him a mere uninterested glance without a flicker of recognition. He was disappointed, and when, after ordering his breakfast at the door of the buffet, he returned to his seat he avoided glancing toward her. From where he sat he could only see the top of ​her hat, and he reflected that the journey promised to be rather dull and uninteresting. He considered having the conductor change his seat to one in the middle of the car on the other side, since there were empty seats there, but decided not to to. He didn't want her to think that he was trying to flirt with her. After he had eaten his breakfast, however, his spirits rose again. He bought a morning paper and retired to the smoking room. As it was a Montreal paper he had soon exhausted its powers of entertainment. Then for a while he watched the snowy landscape. The train ran smoothly and noiselessly between banks of crisp, immaculate snow thrown up by the plows. The big, listless, leisurely flakes blotted out the distances and the gray sky seemed very near. Someone entered and took a seat opposite and Wade glanced across. It was the boy. He had brought a magazine with him and was turning the pages uninterestedly, seemingly more attentive to the advertisements than the reading ​matter. Once or twice he shot a speculative glance at Wade. He was a nice-looking lad of apparently thirteen, with clear blue eyes, a fresh, healthy complexion and brown hair slicked straight back from his forehead in a way that added to the ingenuousness of his expression. His likeness to the Girl was so patent that Wade warmed to him at once.
"How's everything at Groton? " he asked. Gordon looked up in surprise.
"All right, sir. How'd you know I was from Groton, though?"
"Perhaps I can tell a Groton man when I see one," replied Wade smilingly. "I went to St. Mark's myself."
"Did you?" asked the boy eagerly. "Did you play football?"
"Yes, I was on the team three years and we licked you twice in that time."
"Gee, that must have been a long while ago! You don't do it very often nowadays."
"That's so; you chaps are too much for ​us. Still, we got you again this year, I think?"
Gordon nodded gloomily. "Yes, six to nothing. Did you see it?"
"No, I was in Colorado then. What form are you in?"
"Second, sir. What position did you play?"
"Left tackle and guard. That was away back in ninety-four,—five and—six; rather before your time." Gordon pondered, looking interestedly across.
"Did they play the game about the way we play it now, sir?"
"N-no, those were the days of the mass-plays, the flying-wedge and guards back. And I'm enough of an old-timer to think that football then was a heap more interesting than it is now."
Gordon took up the cudgels for "new football" and they threshed it out between them. Then Wade told some stories of the old days at St. Mark's, and Gordon, not to be outdone by a representative of the rival ​school, narrated a few Groton legends, and by that time the entente cordial was firmly established. It wasn't difficult to turn the conversation in the direction Wade desired and he was soon in possession of much information regarding his traveling companions.
The boy's name was Gordon Herrick Burnett and he lived in New York with his sister Prue and his Aunt Mildred. His parents were both dead and Aunt Mildred was his guardian. "She was Prue's guardian, too, until last year. Now Sis is her own boss. Wish I was! She can do just as she pleases."
They were going to Quebec for the holidays on his account. He had never been there, but Trask, a fellow in his class, had told him about it and he guessed it must be lots of fun. "They have a skating rink and two or three toboggan slides, and there's a place called Montmorency where you go and coast on sleds. And you can snow-shoe, too. Did you ever do that, sir?"
​"Yes, we use snow-shoes a good deal in the mountains in winter." Gordon hesitated a moment. Then,
"I don't suppose you're going to stay in Quebec," he observed anxiously.
"I expect to be there over Christmas, at least."
"Really? Then—then would you show me about snow-shoeing, sir? I never could do it right."
"I'll show you what I know," said Wade, "if you'll initiate me into the mysteries of tobogganing."
"You bet! Haven't you ever done any of that? Gee, it's the best fun there is! Trask says they have a slide right outside the hotel, but maybe he's lying. I'm going skeeing, too. Ever try that, sir?"
Wade owned that he hadn't.
"Neither have I. But they say it's lots of sport. Guess the first thing I'll have to do is to buy some things; snow-shoes, skees, maybe a toboggan, but I guess Prue's going to give me one for Christmas. Say, we're ​going to have a Christmas tree, Prue says. Won't that be dandy? Of course, trees are for kids, I guess, but I like them, don't you?"
"Very much."
"Yes, they're so kind of—of Christmasy; they smell so good, don't they. Would you care to come to my tree, do you think, sir?"
"I'd like to very much," answered Wade gravely. "I haven't been to a Christmas tree for a long time. Perhaps, though, your sister wouldn't care to have a stranger."
"She won't mind," said Gordon carelessly. "She's a good sport, sis is. I'll speak to her about it. Are you going to our hotel?"
"Maybe. Which one is yours?"
"I mean the one we're going to. I forget the name of it, but it's the biggest one there. Have you been to Quebec before, sir?"
"No, this is my first visit."
"Mine too. I hope we'll like it," said Gordon gravely. "Are you—are you going up alone, sir?"
​"Quite alone."
"Maybe, though, you know folks there."
"Not a soul." Gordon brightened.
"Then—then maybe you and I might—might—" He paused in slight embarrassment.
"Might chum together, you mean?" asked Wade smilingly. "Suppose we do. I'd like it first rate."
"So would I, sir. We could go snow-shoeing and tobogganing and skeeing and have a pretty good time I should think. Guess I'd better go back now. I—I'll see you later." He smiled shyly and went out with his delightful school-boy swagger. He had forgotten his magazine and Wade picked it up and strove to interest himself in a Christmas story. But he soon decided that his own thoughts were preferable, and, lighting his pipe, he smoked and watched the pearl-gray world slip by the car window, and let his thoughts lead him where they would. But they didn't take him far afield; no farther, in fact, than the length ​of the car. An hour went by and the boy returned.
"I left my magazine," he announced. But having recovered it he lingered and, finding encouragement in Wade's smile, seated himself again.
"It's all right about the Christmas tree," he announced. "I told Prue and she said I could invite you if I wanted to. Aunt Mildred wanted to know who you were, though. Would you mind telling me, sir? It doesn't make any difference to me, of course, but Aunt Mildred is sort of fussy and old-maidish."
"My name," laughed Wade, "is Forbes, Wade Forbes."
"Forbes," repeated the boy, memorizing. "Thank you. I'll tell her."
"She may want to know more than that, though, so you can tell her that I am a mining man, come of a respectable Northern New York family, reside at present in Colorado and am on a vacation."
"I told her about your being a St. Mark's ​fellow," said Gordon. "Did you go to college, sir?"
"Yes, Harvard; Lawrence Scientific; Class of 1901. I suppose your sister—Miss Burnett wasn't—er—especially curious about me?"
"Oh, no, sis isn't a crank," replied Gordon cheerfully. "It's just Aunt Mildred. Sis says it's because she was born in New England, but I suppose that's just a joke. I like New England, myself. Do you?"
"I think so; I used to."
"I'm going to Yale. That's in New England, too, isn't it? I don't see why Connecticut should be in New England and New York not; do you?"
"It does seem rather puzzling," said Wade.
"I wonder what time it is." Gordon produced a silver watch with a dangling leather fob adorned with the Groton seal. "Gee, it's most twelve. I'm awfully hungry, wish there was a dining car on, don't you? All they have here is baked beans ​and corn-beef hash and eggs. Guess I can eat most anything today, though." He paused and chuckled. "A funny thing happened last night," he confided. "Prue and Aunt Mildred were late getting into Boston; there was an awful wreck on the line somewhere near New London, you see; so we didn't have time to get anything to eat. And we were all just about starving. We tried to get the porter to go out at one of the stations and bring us something but he said there wasn't time. I don't believe I ever was so hungry! And then what do you think?"
Wade shook his head.
"Someone sent us a lot of sandwiches and fruit and cake! The porter brought them and he wouldn't tell who it was sent them. I bet, though, it was that fresh conductor. I saw him making up to sis. The porter said it wasn't him, but I bet it was, just the same."
"Well, whoever he was he saved the day, I guess."
​"You bet! Gee, those sandwiches were good!" He smiled reminiscently. Then, "What do you do when you're a miner, sir?" he asked. "Do you dig up gold?"
After that for a half-hour the conversation had to do with mining and miners, and Gordon was intensely interested in all that Wade told him. Some of the stories made his eyes sparkle.
"Gee, I believe, I'll be a miner when I get through college," he exclaimed. "It must be lots of fun. And a fellow could get pretty rich, couldn't he, if he discovered a good mine?" He observed Wade admiringly. "I suppose you've got a lot of gold, sir?"
"A little," Wade laughed. "But good mines aren't so easy to find, my boy. And it's a pretty hard life, take it all around."
"I'd like it," declared Gordon emphatically. "I'd like to travel around like that and look for gold or silver. That would be a lot of fun. Then, if I didn't find a mine, I could buy one."
​"Good ones are rather high, though," said Wade with a smile.
"Yes, but you see, sir"—Gordon looked apologetic—"you see I'll have a lot of money when I'm twenty-one. Aunt Mildred says I'll have more than is good for me and Prue says I must learn how to take care of it. It'll be—" he hesitated, eying Wade doubtfully as though not certain whether their friendship yet warranted such confidences—"it'll be pretty near two million dollars, I guess."
Wade opened his eyes.
"Well, that is some! I guess your sister is right, my boy; you want to learn just what money means before that comes to you. I don't suppose—your sister has anything like that much?"
But Gordon nodded, gazing gravely out of the window.
"Yes, she got half, sir. Sis says it's a nuisance, having so much money. But I guess that's just because she's a woman and doesn't understand business. And then, ​ men are always bothering her, too. You see, they know she's got it and they want to marry her. I suppose that worries her, don't you?"
"I should think it might," answered Wade thoughtfully. "She—er—she hasn't decided to marry any of them, yet, then?"
"Don't believe so. Aunt Mildred's always after her to get married but she says she isn't going to. I guess she will, though, some day. She's turned down some corking chaps, too."
"Has she?" murmured Wade.
"Yes. I guess if she marries anyone it'll be Kingdon Smith. He's awfully sweet on her and she likes him pretty well, I guess. Do you know him? He's the crack polo player, you know."
"I've heard of him but have never met him. It isn't definitely decided, then?"
"No, I don't think so. Say, I'm going to make 'em order lunch. I'm beastly hungry. Good-bye, Mr. Forbes. I'll tell Aunt Mildred all about you."
​"Thank you," said Wade gravely.
When the boy had gone he pursed his lips for a whistle that ended in a groan.
"Of all the miserable luck!" he muttered. "Why in Heaven's name does she have to be a millionairess?" He smiled ruefully at his pipe. "Dave, I guess your gold water pitcher is quite safe!"
He returned presently to his seat in the car, the savor rather gone out of the adventure, and had his luncheon. As he ate he could just see the top of the girl's head above the backs of the seats down the car. Perhaps it was this scant view of her, or perhaps it was the luncheon, at all events he returned to the smoking room afterwards for his cigar in a more cheerful frame of mind.
"After all," he reflected, "she's just a woman, millions or no millions. And even if I can't play polo, I'm as good a man as Kingdon Smith. Besides, I'm here and he isn't!"
The train slowed down and for a minute ​ran cautiously between the banks of crisp, clean snow tossed aside by the plows. It had been snowing hard for an hour or more and it was evident that every mile of northward progress increased the difficulties of travel. A water-tank slipped slowly by the window and was followed by a tiny station on the platform of which three fur-coated and gayly sashed habitants watched the train with incurious eyes. Wade read the sign, "St. Anselme," and then, with a series of diminishing jerks the train came to a stop. There was the whistle of releasing brakes and a great stillness settled down. The only sound that reached him was the faint murmur of voices from the car. Outside the window the flakes fell straight and silently from a gray void, hushing the world and hiding it from sight. Wade sought his time-table. St. Anselme was not a scheduled stop. He glanced at his watch and found that the time was three minutes past two. At this rate, he told himself, they were not likely to reach ​Quebec much before dark; they had left Beauce thirty minutes ago, all of two hours late, and it was safe to say that they had been losing time steadily ever since. Well, it mattered little, he reflected, and settled himself back against the cushion, half-drowsily watching the purple-gray smoke of his cigar billow up into the cold white light of the windows. Ten minutes passed and the opening of a door at the farther end of the car aroused him. Presently the conductor passed the smoking-room and Wade hailed him.
"The track between here and St. Henri Junction isn't clear yet, sir," the conductor explained patiently. "I think we'll be held up here at least an hour, sir. Sorry, but we'll get into Quebec in plenty of time for supper."
"SHE CAST A FLEETING GLANCE AS SHE WENT BY"
"Well, we're not getting along very fast, are we?" asked Wade with a smile.
"No, sir," answered the boy. "I guess we'll be lucky if we get there in time for supper. I measured the snow out there and there's almost a foot of it on the level."
He caught sight of the slumbering occupant of the corner and lowered his voice. "I wish I had some snowshoes here."
"What would you do? Walk the rest of the way?"
"No, sir," he replied with a grin, "but I'd get out there and practise using them." He pulled his cap down onto his head as he to go on. "I'm looking for Sis," explained. "She went back to send a telegram."
Wade nodded and then, feeling the need ​of stretching his legs, tossed his book aside and walked back to the vestibule. As he reached it there came several short, hoarse blasts from the engine. The vestibule door was still open and Wade leand out and looked up the track. There was no one in sight, but the engine bell clanged faintly once or twice and then, with a slight jerk the train began to move forward. Wade wondered whether they were really off at last or whether they were merely moving further along the track for some reason. But his doubts were soon dispelled, for the train gathered speed rapidly and in a moment the clean-cut bank of snow beside the track was flowing smoothly by. With a grunt of satisfaction Wade turned his head for a final glimpse of the little settlement behind. What he saw sent his hand upward toward the signal-cord. But as his fingers touched it his hand dropped away again. There was a moment of indecision, and then, poising himself on the lower step, Wade pulled his cap ​down firmly, waited his opportunity and leaped out toward the snowbank.