You'd bes'
call Mr. Fogo's 'tention to that."
"An' warn 'un not to get out while the train's i' motion; but you was
al'ays thoughtful, Tamsin. God bless thee, little maid! Et makes my
head swim o' whiles to think 'pon the times I've a-danced 'ee 'pon my
knee, an' now you'm a married woman!"
"God bless you both, my dear brothers!"
"Amazin'," said Paul; "I see the Cumpenny won't hold itsel' liable
for--"
There was a slamming of doors, a shriek of the whistle, and the train
began to move away. At the same moment Mr. Fogo darted out of the
Booking Office, and came tearing up the platform.
"Where's my wife?" he cried. "Which carriage--?"
It was too late. The carriage was already beyond the platform, and
the train had gathered speed. But presence of mind belongs not to
experience only. At the end of the train was hitched an empty
clay-truck, bound on a return journey to Five Lanes Junction.
Quick as thought the Twins, as Mr. Fogo rushed up to them, caught him
by the coat collar and seat of his trousers, and with one timely
heave sent him flying into this. When he staggered to his feet--
hatless, without spectacles, and besmeared with clay from head to
foot--the train was fifty yards beyond the station. And so, staring
back mournfully at the little group upon the platform, he vanished
from their sight.
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