One of 'em had brought his
concertina, an' another his flute, and what with these an' other ways
of passin' the time they got along pretty comfortable till they came
to Gwinear Road: an' there for some reason they were held up an' had
to show their tickets. Anyways, the staff at Gwinear Road went along
the train collectin' the halves o' their return tickets. 'What's the
name o' this station?' asks my blind friend, very mild an' polite.
'Gwinear Road,' answers the porter;' Penzance next stop.' Somehow
this gave him the notion that they were nearly arrived, an' so, you
see, when the train slowed down a few minutes later an' came to a
stop, he took the porter at his word, an' stepped out. Simple,
wasn't it? But in my experience the curiousest things in life are
the simplest of all, once you come to inquire into 'em."
"What I don't understand," said I, "is how the train came to stop
just there."
Mr. Tucker gazed at me rather in sorrow than in anger. "I thought,"
said he, "'twas agreed I should tell the story in my own way.
Well, as I was saying, we got those poor fellas there, all as naked
as Adam, an' we was helpin' them all we could--some of us wringin'
out their underlinen an' spreading it to dry, others collectin' their
hats, an' tryin' which fitted which, an' others even dredgin' the
pool for their handbags an' spectacles an' other small articles, an'
in the middle of it someone started to laugh.
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