The long Pullman train, an hour late and greatly begrudging the time for a special stop, came sliding into the tiny station of Rudolm and deposited a solitary passenger upon the platform. The porter set Hugh Arnold’s suitcase on the ground and accepted his proffered coin, all in one expert gesture, and said genially:

“We’re way behind time on this run, but we come through on the down trip at six in the morning, sharp. You-all will be going back with us to-morrow, I reckon.”

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