It was evident that he, too, was acquainted with the
latter.
"Evening, Cap'n," he said, politely. "Train's a little late to-night."
"It is--for to-night's train," was the prompt response, "but if it keeps
on at the rate it's travelin' now, it'll be a little early for to-morrow
mornin's, won't it?"
The conductor laughed. "Guess you're right," he said. "This is about as
wet a storm as I've run through since I've been on the road. If we get
to Provincetown without a washout we'll be lucky... Well, we've made
another hitch. So far, so good."
The brakeman swung open the door to shout, "Denboro! Denboro!" the
conductor picked up his lantern and hurried away, the locomotive
whistled hoarsely, and the train hiccoughed alongside another little
station. Mr. Graves, peering through his window, imagined that here
the silhouettes on the platform moved more briskly. They seemed almost
excited. He inferred that Denboro was a bigger and more wide-awake
village than Ostable.
But he was mistaken. The reason for the excitement was made plain by the
conductor a moment afterwards. That official entered the car, removed
his uniform cap, and rubbed a wet forehead with a wetter hand.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I've been expecting it, and here it is.
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