Anna Chapin Ray

“ While the train drew slowly out of the long, bright station, out through the snow-veiled lights of the city streets, he moved briskly to and fro, removing his overcoat and assuring himself that all was right with his car. Then he returned to Rob and, all unbidden, dropped into the vacant seat at his side.
"I'm learning to count on you as my own property, Mr. Argyle," he said cheerily then. "It's an odd chance that always brings you, when I'm on the run. By the way. my name is Blanchard, Jack Blanchard. You've taken a bad night for the trip." ”

“ You're better off inside the car."
And, as the darkness fell and Blanchard went to order the porter to turn on the lights, Rob gave over thinking of Day long enough to assure himself that, without Jack Blanchard's jovial care, his journey would have been a different thing. The day had been one of discomfort. The train had crawled forward and come to halt by turns. The car was cold, food scarce, the outlook dreary. The train conductor lapsed into voluble French at all questions in regard to the hour of their arrival. There was nothing to do but wait—and worry. ”

“ Under some conditions, Rob could have enjoyed the day, enjoyed even its sheer discomforts. To a hearty boy with a mind at rest, they would have held their own charming spice of danger. But now, however far diverted, his mind kept swinging back to the one fixed point. That point, of course, was Day.
It was a certain relief when the porter turned on the lights. The drawn curtains of the car shut out all measure of the slowness of their progress. The wind had fallen with the falling dark ”

“ But Rob made dreary answer,—
"It wasn't about myself I was thinking; it was Day."
Blanchard glanced out of the window at a lighted station. Then he looked at his watch. Then he rose.
"Argyle," he said kindly; "it's very late. If I were you, I'd go to bed. You're tired; perhaps you'll get some sleep. Don't take this thing harder than you can help; pneumonia isn't always deadly." He started down the car. Then, turning, he came back. "Put on your coat and come out on the platform for a mile or two. The air will make you sleepy," he advised. "Then, if you don't sleep and get lonesome, ring me up. ”

“ I'm not allowed to go to bed till three, and there's nobody to be disturbed, in case you feel like talking. Sure your coat is buttoned? Come." And he led the way to a sheltered corner of the vestibule. ”