He was humming a tune; it seemed to be his habit, and
it argued healthy cheerfulness. Meanwhile Mr. Whiston sat stiffly in his
corner, staring at the landscape, a model of respectable muteness.
At the first stop another man entered. This time, unmistakably, a
commercial traveller. At once a dialogue sprang up between him and Rufus.
The traveller complained that all the smoking compartments were full.
'Why,' exclaimed Rufus, with a laugh, 'that reminds me that I wanted a
smoke. I never thought about it till now; jumped in here in a hurry.'
The traveller's 'line' was tobacco; they talked tobacco--Rufus with much
gusto. Presently the conversation took a wider scope.
'I envy you,' cried Rufus, 'always travelling about. I'm in a beastly
office, and get only a fortnight off once a year. I enjoy it, I can tell
you! Time's up today, worse luck! I've a good mind to emigrate. Can you
give me a tip about the colonies?'
He talked of how he had spent his holiday. Rose missed not a word, and her
blood pulsed in sympathy with the joy of freedom which he expressed. She
did not mind his occasional slang; the tone was manly and right-hearted; it
evinced a certain simplicity of feeling by no means common in men, whether
gentle or other.
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