At the railway
station occurred our first loss of baggage.
As W. was making change in
the baggage room, he missed the basket containing our books and
sundries. Unfortunately the particular word for _basket_ had just
then stepped out. "_Wo ist mein - pannier?_" exclaimed he, giving
them the French synonyme. They shook their heads. "_Wo ist
mein - basket?_" he cried, giving them English; they shook their
heads still harder. "_Wo ist mein - - _" "Whew - w!" shrieked
the steam whistle; "Ding a-ling-ling!" went the bell, and, leaving his
question unfinished, W. ran for the cars.
In our car was an elderly couple, speaking French. The man was
evidently a quiet sort of fellow, who, by long Caudling, had
subdued - whole volcanos into dumbness within him. Little did he think
what eruption fate was preparing. II. sat opposite _his hat_,
which he had placed on the empty seat. There was a tower, or
something, coming; H. rose, turned round, and innocently took a seat
on his chapeau. Such a voice as came out of that meekness personified!
In the twinkling of an eye - for there is a peculiar sensation which a
person experiences in sitting upon, or rather into a hat; ages are
condensed into moments, and between the first yielding of the brittle
top and the final crush and jam, as between the top of a steeple and
the bottom, there is room for a life's reflection to flash through the
mind - in the twinkling of an eye H. agonizingly felt that she was
sitting on a hat, that the hat was being jammed, that it was getting
flat and flatter every second, that the meek man was howling in
French; and she was just thinking of her husband and children when she
started to her feet, and the nightmare was over.
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