"Good-morning," she called.
Without looking up he gave back her greeting in an absent echo.
"As you didn't come to see me, I've come to see you," was her next
attempt.
Did he nod? Or had he made no motion at all?
"I've come to ask important questions about trains," she pursued, a
little aggrieved by his indifference to her presence.
No reply from the intent worker.
"And 'tell sad stories of the death of kings,'" she quoted with a fairy
chuckle. She thought that she saw a small contortion pass over his
features, only to be banished at once. He had retired within the walls
of that impassive and inscrutable reserve which minor railroad officials
can at will erect between themselves and the lay public. Only the broken
rhythms of the telegraph ticker relieved the silence and furnished the
justification.
A little piqued but more amused, for she was far too confident of
herself to feel snubbed, the girl waited smilingly. Presently she said
in silken tones:
"When you're quite through and can devote a little attention to
insignificant me, I shall perhaps be sitting on the sunny corner of the
platform, or perhaps I shall be gone forever."
But she was not gone when, ten minutes later, Banneker came out. He
looked tired.
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