# Cupid En Route/Chapter 7
### VII

HIS own gaze fell first, prompted by a ridiculous sense of guilt which he warmly resented the next instant. Why should he be ashamed? He had done nothing out of the way, and to prove it he would look at her again. But she had turned away now and Wade's air of conscious virtue and perfect innocence was wasted. The porter came down the aisle and stopped.
"Thirty cents, Miss. Thank you, Miss."
"Will they get it off right away?" asked the Girl.
"Yes'm."
Miss Pearse, in the seat ahead, appeared from behind the highly-colored covers of the Ladies' Pictorial.
"What does he say, Prue?" she asked.
("Prue!" Wade heard and gloated.)
​"He says they'll get the message right off, Auntie. Oh, I do hope he will get it in time. If he doesn't we'll have to stay over night there, won't we?"
"We may have to anyway," returned Miss Pearse dejectedly. "I don't believe this train will ever get to Boston. For my part, I think I'd quite as lief spend tonight in a comfortable bed at the hotel as on that train."
"But Gordon will be so disappointed, dear! It must have been frightfully dull for him at Groton. Why do you suppose they don't run that train from Sherbrooke to Quebec on Sundays? If we had left yesterday all this wouldn't have happened."
(Quebec! At last Wade knew where he was going!)
"My dear," replied her aunt irascibly, "If you'll tell me why the railroads in this part of the world do any of the silly things they do I'll be greatly obliged. Every time I travel in New England I make up my mind I'll never do it again! Do you realize ​that if Gordon meets us and we catch the Quebec train we won't have a bite to eat?"
"I know, and I'm hungry now! Perhaps we can snatch a mouthful at the station."
"I don't care to 'snatch' my dinner," said Miss Pearse with something like a sniff. The conductor engaged Wade's attention then and when the latter had paid his fare and was free to give his attention again to his neighbors. Miss Pearse had disappeared once more behind her Christmas number and her neice had returned to her own magazine.
"Well," he reflected, "I've discovered two very important things: that her first name is Prue and that she—and I—are going to Quebec. Also that they have telegraphed Gordon, who is probably her brother in school at Groton, to meet them either on their arrival at the South Terminal or at the North Station. Also that if we get in in time to cross town and reach the North Station and get the eight-thirty train it's going to be a quick scramble and we'll ​all go to bed dinnerless. And I'm just as hungry as she is, poor girl!"
He rang the bell and when the porter came asked:
"George, did they take that diner off at New London?"
"Yes, sir."
"And there's no buffet on board?"
"No, sir."
"Well, how late are we and when will we get in?"
"Most two hours late at New London, sir, but Cap says we'll make some of it up. If we do we ought to get in about eight."
"About eight, eh? Think I'd have time to get over to the North Station for the eight-thirty train out?"
From the corner of his eye he saw the Girl turn her head and dart a glance across at him.
"I dunno, sir Reckon if we get in by eight you can make it all right in a taxi."
"Well, you tell the conductor to hustle along, George."
​"We'll do that,. sir; don't you worry; there's a heap of folks on that wants to make connections tonight."
The porter moved away and Wade looked across the aisle. The Girl was absorbed in her magazine and so he could study her to his heart's content. She wore a black and white checked skirt and a gray silk waist. The suit coat hung from a hook and with it was the fur coat she had worn yesterday. Beside her chair was a small black bag adorned with a gold cypher, but the designer had done his work well and try as he might Wade couldn't make anything of the snarled letters. On the cushion in front of her rested a pair of slim, patent-leather boots with gray tops and smoked pearl buttons, very clever, engaging boots indeed. She wore a black hat which came far down on her head and reminded Wade of a turban such as the Hindoos wear, formed as it seemed to be of folds of corded silk. It hid her hair almost completely and under it her face looked small and pale and ​tired. Wade's heart flooded with sympathy. That she should be forced to go to bed without anything to eat was a crime against humanity! Something would have to be done about it! And while sympathy and indignation consumed him the occupant of the chair in front of him swung around revealing the features of the maid. She leaned across and spoke to the Girl, in French, and Wade was glad the next moment that he had moved his gaze, for the Girl's glance swept past him as she looked up and replied in the same language. Wade, his gaze fixed intently on a bald head far down the aisle, wished he hadn't forgotten all the French he had ever learned. Whatever had been said, the maid seemed satisfied and turned back again. The Girl returned to her magazine. Wade's regard returned to the Girl.
She was no less beautiful today than she had been that evening in the opera house box, but she looked a little less regal, a little more human, and, to Wade, a bit ​more warm and lovable. Now and then the veriest ghost of a frown ruffled the white forehead and the long lashes flickered, and Wade, putting the symptoms down to weariness and depression and hunger, melted in sympathy until it occurred to him that she was probably aware of his steady observation and was annoyed by it. Whereupon he resolutely swung his chair around and stared at the darkened window. He had his reward, in fact two rewards. The window was like a mirror and in it he saw the Girl raise her head and look across at him for a moment, and after that he found that he could still see her almost as well as when facing her. After awhile she laid her magazine down with a little gesture of boredom and consulted her watch. After that she yawned frankly, folded her hands loosely on top of the magazine and stared at the cover of the Ladies' Pictorial.
The train slowed down and ran into the station at Providence. Wade went to the end of the car, found a time-table and ​retired with it to the smoking room. Comparing time-table and watch showed that they had already made up almost forty minutes. At that rate they might reach Boston at eight or shortly after. For the Girl's sake he almost hoped that they wouldn't, for he hated to think of her going on without any dinner. They wasted no time in Providence, but pulled out quickly and went whizzing away again through the night. A little border of snow appeared about the window casement and flakes settled against the glass to melt and trickle down in wavering paths. Wade lighted his pipe, but he had had an early luncheon and tobacco didn't taste very well. He made up his mind that he wouldn't return to his seat until they approached Boston. He wished that he hadn't left his magazines behind him on the other train in his hurry. Someone, however, had abandoned a portion of the Sunday Times and he rescued that from the smoking room floor and found that it contained the mining news. ​The rest of the journey didn't seem long, and almost before he knew it the porter routed him out and put him through the whiskbroom degree. In the car the general depression had disappeared and the occupants were restlessly tugging at coats and bags and discarding newspapers and looking hopeful. Wade got into his own coat and moved his bag into the aisle. The Girl had donned her checked coat and was sitting erect, anxious, ready for action. They stopped a moment at Back Bay and then went on.
"Boston! Boston!" called the porter. "Leave by the rear door!"
Wade was one of the first out, but on the platform he drew aside and waited. It was just nine minutes past eight. The Girl and her aunt and the maid descended hurriedly, porters seized their luggage and they scurried toward the gates. Wade followed at a discreet distance. There was only one pause in that mad exodus, and that came when a small boy in a gray ulster ​and black derby, carrying a large suit-case, met them. There were hurried kisses and then the party sped on again, the small youth fairly running along at the Girl's side. Out on the sidewalk they tumbled into a taxicab, the luggage was tossed in after them, the porters were tipped and the chauffeur cranked up and sprang to his seat. Wade lost no time. He threw his bag into the next cab.
"Follow that taxi ahead," he said, "and don't lose it for a minute. Hurry up, now!"
Then began a wild ride through the narrow deserted snow-sprinkled streets of Boston. Wade's driver proved the man for the work, for he cut down the distance between his car and the one ahead in the first block and after that dogged it all the way to the North Station, sweeping under the arch not a length behind. The big clock on the facade said eighteen minutes past as the cab turned in. When he jumped out the party ahead were already entering the waiting room on their way to the train. ​Wade settled with his driver, relinquished his bag to a porter and hurried after.
"What train, sir?"
"Eight-thirty for Quebec."
"This way, sir."
Wade caught sight of a lunch room and a brilliant thought occurred to him.
"Wait a minute," he called, and sprang through the doors. "Sandwiches, about a dozen," he shouted, "fruit—or—cake—anything, only hurry it up! Enough for five persons."
He waited, watching the clock, and the porter waited, watching Wade and the clock alternately. Twenty-three minutes past—twenty-four—twenty-five—twenty-six—
"Here you are, sir, a dollar-eighty."
"All right; keep the rest!" And Wade hurried after the porter again. There was still three minutes to spare as they dashed through the gate. "What car you in, sir?" gasped the porter.
"I don't know; I haven't a ticket; find the Pullman conductor."
​"Next car forward, sir. Here you are, sir. Got a berth for this gentleman, Cap?"
"No, nothing left; everything taken. Just sold the last one half a minute ago."
"How about a berth in the smoking room?" asked Wade a trifle blankly.
"All taken," answered the conductor impatiently, turning to help a passenger aboard.
"Sorry, sir," said the porter. "Go into a day coach, sir?"
"Sure! Hustle along!"
"A-all abo-oard!" sang the conductor. A bell clanged somewhere. Wade sprang up the steps of a day coach and the porter tossed the bag after him.
"Thank you, sir." He caught the coin deftly in midair. "Better see him again, sir; there might be something left; sometimes folks don't turn up."
"Well," Wade reflected philosophically as he carried his bag to a seat, "it won't be the first time I've slept in a day coach. And, anyhow, I've got some supper."