"Gertrude," screamed Mrs. Whitney, "will you get on?"
Glover's eyes were growing like target-lights.
"--before we go East," continued Gertrude. "So should I," she added,
throwing in the last three words most inexplicably, as she kept step
with the engineer. But she had not miscalculated the effect.
"Are you to go soon?" he exclaimed. The porter followed them
helplessly with his stool. Mrs. Whitney wrung her hands, and Gertrude
attempted to reach the lower tread of the car step.
Someone very decidedly helped her, and she laughed and rose from his
hands as lightly as to a stirrup. When she collected herself, after
the pleasure of the spring, Mrs. Whitney was scolding her for her
carelessness; but she was waving a glove from the vestibule at a big
hat still lifted in the dusk of the platform.