424
WYLDER'S H.1JVD.
There was a pleasant evening light still, and the gas-
lamps made a purplish glow against it. The little butter-
cooler of a glass lamp glimmered from the roof. Mr. Lar-
kin established himself, and adjusted his rug and mufflers
about him, for notwithstanding the season, there had been
some cold, rainy weather, and the evening was sharp;
and he set his two newspapers, his shilling book, and oth-
er triumphs of cheap literature in sundry shapes, in the
vacant seat at his left hand, and made everything hand-
some about him. He glanced to the other end of the car-
riage, where sat his solitary fellow-passenger. This gen-
tleman was simply a mass of cloaks and capes, culminat-
ing in a queer battered felt hat; his shoulders were nes-
tled into the corner, and his face buried among his loose
mufflers. They sat at corners diagonally opposed, and
were, therefore, as far apart as was practicable — an ar-
rangement, not sociable, to be sure, but, on the whole,
very comfortable, and which neither seemed disposed to
disturb.
Mr. Larkin had a word to say to the porter from the
window, and bought one more newspaper; and then looked
out on the lamp-lit platform, and saw the officials loiter-
ing off to the clang of the carriage doors; then came the
whistle, and then the clank and jerk of the start.
Jos Larkin tried his newspaper, and read for ten min-
utes, or so, pretty diligently; and then looked for a while
from the window, upon receding hedge-rows and farm-
steads, and the level and spacious landscape; and then he
leaned back luxuriously, his newspaper listlessly on his
knees, and began to read, instead, at his ease, the shape
less, wrapt-up figure diagonally opposite.
The quietude of the gentleman in the far corner was
quite singular. He produced neither tract, nor newspa-
per, nor volume — not even a pocket book or a letter, ^s,