Publisher's Synopsis
"Has the two-forty-five for Boston gone yet?" The train announcer looked at me a long time; then he shifted his plug of tobacco to the other cheek and drawled: "Naouw. Reported forty minutes late." At this point I believe I swore. At least I have no recollection of not doing so, and I should hardly have forgotten so eminent an act of virtue under such difficult circumstances. It was not only that I had worked myself into a heat for nothing. But the train could hardly fail of losing yet more time on its way to Boston, and my chances of making the steamer were about one in three.
