But the "string" was not bound for another track in the yards; it was on its way to the main line, thence off through the winding valley into strange and distant lands.
Sir Vagabond, blissfully swinging his heels and munching his venison, smiled amiably upon the yard men as he passed them by. So genial was the smile, so frank the salutation, that not one scowled back at him or hurled the chunk of coal that bespeaks a surly temper. Down through the maze of sidetracks whisked the little train, out upon the main line with a thin shriek of greeting, past the freight houses--it was then that Sir Vagabond sat up very straight, a look of mild interest in his eyes. Interest gave way to perplexity, perplexity to concern. What's this? Leaving the city? He wasted no time. This would never do! Clutching his belongings to his side, he vaulted from one hand, nimbly and with the gracefulness of wide experience, landing safely on his feet at the roadside.
There he stood with the wry, dazed look of a man who suddenly finds himself guilty of arrant stupidity, watching the cars whiz past on their way to the open country. Just ahead was the breach in the wall through which all trains entered or left the city. Into that breach shot the train, going faster and faster as it saw the straight, clear track beyond. He waited until the tail end whisked itself out of sight in the cut below the city walls, and then trudged slowly, dejectedly in the opposite direction, his heart in his boots. He was thinking of the luckless pair in the empty "box."
Suddenly he stopped, his chin up, his hands to his sides. A hearty peal of laughter soared from his lips. He was regarding the funny side of the situation. The joke was on them! It was rich! The more he thought of their astonishment on awaking, the more he laughed. He leaned against a car.
His immense levity attracted attention. Four or five men approached him from the shadows of the freight houses, ugly, unsmiling fellows. They demanded of him the cause of his unseemly mirth. With tears in his merry black eyes he related the plight of the pretty slumberers, dwelling more or less sentimentally on the tender beauty of the maiden fair. They plied him with questions. He described the couple--even glowingly. Then the sinister fellows smiled; more than that, they clapped each other on the back and swore splendidly. He was amazed and his own good humour gave way to fierce resentment. What right had these ruffians to laugh at the misfortunes of that unhappy maid?