Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-08-02
THE EMPTY COMPARTMENT.

l should be delayed on my journey home
ward by the fact that the day of my return
was the great day at F. races.
A fortnight of my summer holiday had
been devoted to hy-6shing on certain we'll
preserved streams in North Wales. had
fshed from the bank, l had waded through
mountain torrents, and every evening had
come back tired and happy, and laden with
silver-brown treasures, jeweled with specks
of amber and vermillion.
And now the nets were up at sea, and
was waiting, waiting for the great salmon
that were surely hurrying toward me,
fighting their way against peat-brown
swirling water, climbing the salmon-lad-
ders, jumping the granite boulders, toward
the flies that lay in ambush for them in
my old well-worn fy-book.
For days l had pictured their coming
had stood by pool through which they
must pass, had studied the fly, gaudy, but
not too gaudy, with CLINT of peacock
amidst its pheasant's coloring, and one
touch of crimson in the silk which bound
it, which no salmon with any curiosity
could resist; for days l had hazarded a
guess at the weight of my first take, be-
ginning modestly at pounds or so, and
growing holder as the days passed until 10,
20, even 80 pounds seemed possible.
And Just then, just when had heard of
fish six miles below me, when weather was
perfect, and long patience about to be re-
warded, a telegram summoned me home,
and blackness settled upon everything.
The landlord sympathized with me at
the little Anglers Inn, where | was stay
ing, but when l told him the serious ma
ture of my telegram, he did not like to
refer to the pleasures that awaited me if |
remained, but only pointed out the dangers
on my path if l left: Those dreadful
F races "
A frivolous excuse, to my mind, for
man who had not dared to urge the COM
ing salmon as reason for remaining. No,
/ was the junior partner Of my bachelor
uncle, who had money this last assertion
refers to the uncle and not to the junior
partner: he summoned and | must go.
One train only would get me to London
that night; by starting at once | could run
to an important junction, couple of hours
away, change there and be IN town by s
or o'clock.
Now this junction was on the direct line
to F. races.
/ reached the station trifie late, for it
had been quick work to take my rods to
pieces and get my flies that were on the
casts, tenderly into my book However,
was in time, and found rather noisy set
of half dozen men on the platform whom
I 4oo 70 ha NV 7
say, as | do not know any signs to distin-
guish book-maker when | see him, and |
may be mistaken.
! gathered that one train had passed
through too full for them to get seats, and
| heard one say to the station-master:
''Look here, gave you good tip, and it's
hard lines if you don't put carriage on
for self and friends if the next S as full as
the last"
"The next" was full, if about six above
the usual number in each compartment
constitutes repletion, and the station-mas-
ter's gratitude led to the running out of
an old carriage from a shed, into one COM
partment of which jumped self and
friends"
Pro6ting by their Importantly but not
anxious for their company, got into the
next compartment, and was glad to find
myself alone. / settled my rods in the
rack above my head, disturbing dust and
cobwebs as l did so. pulled newspaper
from one pocket, and travelling cap from
another, and read myself to sleep. We
had had long sitting in the smoking
room the night before, over the momen-
tous question of the salmon, and | slept
soon and heavily.
How long slept l cannot say, but
awoke in the roar and rattle of tunnel
awoke in thick darkness to hear the slow
painting of the engine and feel the labored
strain which told me We were going up
hill; also to more disagreeable conscious
ness, namely, that | was not alone, that
there were other persons in the compart-
ment, and that therefore | must have
passed a station.
What a fool must have looked, sleep
ing heavily in broad daylight, so heavily
that two persons at least had passed me in
getting in without disturbing my boorish
slumbers. Two at least-for they were
talking and ! listened for moment to
their conversation, wishing to gather who
my companions might be, before daylight
showed them to me.
They were very near me, il seemed, on
the opposite seat by the door, and the first
words | heard were these, spoken in gen
tie English voice, but with a sad frmneSs
In it;
" | cannot, Harryp
The answer startled me, it was so
roughly given, and the voice was a mans
'You mean you won't, Kate, and there's
an end of it."
Then the girl whispered something that
] did not catch, but could hear the man
half push her from him as he exclaimed :
Il am ruined man without it, and you
won't lift finger to save me"
This would never do; they evidently
fancied me still asleep, and would be talk
ing over all sorts of private affairs, so
coughed, moved uneasily, rustled my news
paper, and, as the first distant CLEAN showed
that the train was nearing daylight,
planted myself firmly in my corner pre-
pared for apology or defense, and when we
rushed out of the darkneSs-found myself
absolutely alone.
This was absurd had been asleep, in
deed, but yet, as l looked around, and
turned to the window to see trees and
fields gliding past, l knew | was wide
awake now, and began to dislike the situa-
ton For l still heard the two talking,
though rot so clearly, and could only con-
olude that they were in the compartment
occupied by the racing set that these last
had got out at the station we had evidently
passed while slept, and that their places
were filled by the two whose voices reached
me with such unnatural distinctness. And
yet how improbable that the men who
were so evidently going to the races had
got out before the Junction. Horror
thought, the blood rushing to my face al
the bare idea, cannot have slept past the
Junction too No, my watch showed that
had not been forty minutes in the train
pulled myself together, and looked
around.
The carriage in which sat was old and