Acton tore up his handkerchief, and with melted snow
washed clean the ugly cut on his forehead, and then left the fireman in
charge of his mate.
"We'll have to roost here, sir, all night. There's no getting out of
this cutting, nohow. Thank you, sir; I'll see to Tom."
Acton and the guard made their way back to the rear of the train, where
the Amorians were awaiting their schoolfellow with impatience and
anxiety.
"The engine is off the rails and the stoker is damaged above a bit,"
said Acton, seriously, "and we're fixtures here until the company comes
and digs us out. There's only one thing to do: we must make ourselves as
comfy as possible for the night. I must see that lady, though, before we
do anything for ourselves. Back in a moment."
Acton sallied out once more and devoted a good ten minutes to explaining
matters to the very horrified and nervous lady and her tearful little
twelve-year-old girl.
"I'll bring you some cushions, and I'll steal Dick Worcester's pillow
for the little girl," he explained cheerfully. "You have one rug, I see.
We can spare you a couple more. No danger at all, really, But isn't it
really horrid? We have not a morsel of food to offer you, but I dare say
you can, if you don't worry over it, put up with a makeshift bed--only
for one night, I'm sure."
Acton relieved Dick Worcester--who plumed himself on his pillow--of
that article, and one of Senior's rugs.
On his return he confronted the dubious looks of his chums with his
invincible cheerfulness.
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