When she arrived she was surprised to find that there were eight or nine children who had got there ahead of her. Each one carried a large blue and gold school banner. The children weren’t saying much, but they were engaged in hopping heavily first on one foot and then on the other. Since they were doing this in unison, the little wooden platform shook abominably and Miss Goering wondered whether she had not better draw the attention of the children to this fact. Very shortly, however, the train pulled into the station and they all boarded it together. Miss Goering sat in a seat across the aisle from a middle-aged stout woman. She and Miss Goering were the only occupants of the car besides the children. Miss Goering looked at her with interest.
She was wearing gloves and a hat and she sat up very straight. In her right hand she held a long thin package which looked like a fly-swatter. The woman stared ahead of her and not a muscle in her face moved. There were some more packages that she had piled neatly on the seat next to her. Miss Goering looked at her and hoped that she too, was going to the tip of the island. The train started to move and the woman put her free hand on top of the packages next to her so that they would not slide off the seat.
The children had mostly crowded into two seats and those who would have had to sit elsewhere preferred to stand around the already occupied seats. Soon they began to sing songs, which were all in praise of the school from which they had come. They did this so badly that it was almost too much for Miss Goering to bear. She got out of her seat and was so intent upon getting to the children quickly that she paid no attention to the lurching of the car and consequently in her hurry she tripped and fell headlong on the floor right next to where the children were singing.
She managed to get on her feet again although her chin was bleeding. She first asked the children to please stop their singing. They all stared at her. Then she pulled out a little lace handkerchief and started to mop the blood from her chin. Soon the train stopped and the children got off. Miss Goering went to the end of the car and filled a paper cup with water. She wondered nervously, as she mopped her chin in the dark passage, whether or not the lady with the fly-swatter would still be in the car. When she got back to her seat she saw with great relief that the lady was still there. She still held the fly-swatter, but she had turned her head to the left and was looking out at the little station platform.
“I don’t think,” said Miss Goering to herself, “that it would do any harm if I changed my seat and sat opposite her. After all, I suppose it’s quite a natural thing for ladies to approach each other on a suburban train like this, particularly on such a small island.”
She slid quietly into the seat opposite the woman and continued to occupy herself with her chin. The train had started again and the woman stared harder and harder out of the window in order to avoid Miss Goering’s eye, for Miss Goering was a little disturbing to certain people. Perhaps because of her red and exalted face and her outlandish clothes.
“I’m delighted that the children have left,” said Miss Goering; “now it is really pleasant on this train.”
It began to rain and the woman pressed her forehead to the glass in order to stare more closely at the slanting drops on the window-pane. She did not answer Miss Goering. Miss Goering began again, for she was used to forcing people into conversation, her fears never having been of a social nature.
“Where are you going?” Miss Goering asked, first because she was really interested in knowing whether or not the woman was traveling to the tip of the island, and also because she thought it a rather disarming question. The woman studied her carefully.
“Home,” she said in a flat voice.
“And do you live on this island?” Miss Goering asked her. “It’s really enchanting,” she added.
The woman did not answer, but instead she started to gather all her packages up in her arms.
“Where exactly do you live?” asked Miss Goering. The woman’s eyes shifted about.
“Glensdale,” she said hesitatingly, and Miss Goering, although she was not sensitive to slights, realized that the woman was lying to her. This pained her very much.
“Why do you lie to me?” she asked. “I assure you that I am a lady like yourself.”
The woman by then had mustered her strength and seemed more sure of herself. She looked straight into Miss Goering’s eyes.
“I live in Glensdale,” she said, “and I have lived there all my life. I am on my way to visit a friend who lives in a town a little farther along.”
“Why do I terrify you so?” Miss Goering asked her. “I would like to have talked to you.”
“I won’t stand for this another moment,” the woman said, more to herself than to Miss Goering. “I have enough real grief in my life without having to encounter lunatics.”
Suddenly she grabbed her umbrella and gave Miss Goering a smart rap on the ankles. She was quite red in the face and Miss Goering decided that in spite of her solid bourgeois appearance she was really hysterical, but since she had met many women like this before, she decided not to be surprised from now on at anything that the woman might do. The woman left her seat with all of her packages and her umbrella and walked down the aisle with difficulty. Soon she returned, followed by the conductor.
They stopped beside Miss Goering. The woman stood behind the conductor. The conductor, who was an old man, leaned way over Miss Goering so that he was nearly breathing in her face.
“You can’t talk to anyone on these here trains,” he said, “unless you know them.” His voice sounded very mild to Miss Goering.
Then he looked over his shoulder at the woman, who still seemed annoyed but more calm.
“The next time,” said the conductor, who really was at a loss for what to say, “the next time you’re on this train, stay in your seat and don’t molest anybody. If you want to know the time you can ask them without any to-do about it or you can just make a little signal with your hand and I’ll be willing to answer all your questions.” He straightened up and stood for a moment trying to think of something more to say. “Remember also,” he added, “and tell this to your relatives and to your friends. Remember also that there are no dogs allowed on this train or people in masquerade costume unless they’re all covered up with a big heavy coat; and no more hubbubs,” he added, shaking a finger at her. He tipped his hat to the woman and went on his way.
A minute or two later the train stopped and the woman got off. Miss Goering looked anxiously out of the window for her, but she could see only the empty platform and some dark bushes. She held her hand over her heart and smiled to herself.
When she arrived at the tip of the island the rain had stopped and the stars were shining again intermittently. She had to walk down a long narrow boardwalk which served as a passage between the train and the landing pier of the ferry. Many of the boards were loose and Miss Goering had to be very careful where she was stepping. She sighed with impatience, because it seemed to her that as long as she was still on this boardwalk it was not certain that she would actually board the ferry. Now that she was approaching her destination she felt that the whole excursion could be made very quickly and that she would soon be back with Arnold and his father and Miss Gamelon.