s tipped back against the wall in a wooden armchair,
with his feet on the table, and his mind sunk in an old Christmas number
of the _Cowboy Magazine_. The express agent, in the baggage-room, was
going over his last week's waybills and accounts by the light of a
lantern, trying to locate an error, and sighing profanely to himself as
he failed to find it. A wooden trunk tied with rope, a couple of dingy
canvas bags, a long box marked "Fresh Fish! Rush!" and two large leather
portmanteaus with brass fittings were piled on the luggage truck at the
far end of the platform; and beside the door of the waiting room,
sheltered by the overhanging eaves, was a neat traveling bag, with a gun
case and a rod case leaning against the wall. The wet rails glittered
dimly northward and southward away into the night. A few blurred lights
glimmered from the village across the bridge.

Dudley Hemenway had observed all these features of the landscape with
silent dissatisfaction, as he smoked steadily up and down the platform,
waiting for the Maritime Express. It is usually irritating to arrive at
the station on time for a train on the Intercolonial Railway. The
arrangement is seldom mutual; and sometimes yesterday's train does not
come along until to-morrow afternoon. Moreover, Hemenway was inwardly
discontented with the fact that he was coming out of the woods instead
of going in. "Coming out" always made him a little unhappy, whether his
expedition had been successful or not. He did not like the thought that
it was all over; and he had the very bad habit, at such times, of
looking ahead and computing the slowly lessening number of chances that
were left to him.

"Sixty odd years--I may get to be that old and keep my shooting sight,"
he said to himself. "That would give me a couple of dozen more camping
trips. It's a short allowance. I wonder if any of them will be more
lucky than this one. This makes the seventh year I've tried to get a
moose; and the odd trick has gone against me every time."

He tossed away the end of his cigar, which made a little trail of sparks
as it rolled along the sopping platform, and turned to look in through
the window of the ticket office. Something in the agent's attitude of
literary absorption aggravated him. He went round to the door and opened
it.

"Don't you know or care when this train is coming?"

"Nope," said the man placidly.

"Well, when? What's the matter with her? When is she due?"

"Doo tw