Publisher's Synopsis
Breaking suddenly upon the steady drumming of the trucks, the prolonged and husky roar of a locomotive whistle saluted an immediate grade-crossing. Roused by this sound from his solitary musings in the parlour-car of which he happened temporarily to be the sole occupant, Mr. David Amber put aside the magazine over which he had been dreaming, and looked out of the window, catching a glimpse of woodland road shining white between sombre walls of stunted pine. Lazily he consulted his watch. "It's not for nothing," he observed pensively, "that this railroad wears its reputation: we are consistently late." His gaze, again diverted to the flying countryside, noted that it had changed character, pine yielding to scrub-oak and second-growth-the ragged vestments of an area some years since denuded by fire. This, too, presently swung away, giving place to cleared land-arable acres golden with the stubble of garnered harvests or sentinelled with unkempt shocks of corn.
