window and sat down.
“We’ve already been here for ten minutes,” he said presently.
“Excuse me. Twelve,” said another passenger. Still the train did not move. The noise of two men quarrelling in a neighbouring compartment became audible.
Suddenly a shock flung them all together in the darkness. It was as if the train, going at full speed, had been unskilfully pulled up.
“What the devil’s that?” said one.
“Open the doors.”
“Has there been a collision?”
“It’s all right,” said the well-informed man in a loud, calm voice. “Putting on another engine. And doing it very badly. It’s all these new engine-drivers they’ve got in lately.”
“Hullo!” said someone. “We’re moving.” Slow and grunting, the train began to go.
“It takes its time getting up speed,” said someone.
“Oh, you’ll find it’ll start making up for lost time in a minute,” said the well-informed man.
“I wish they’d put the lights on again,” said a woman’s voice.
“We’re not getting up speed,” said another.
“We’re losing it. Damn it! Are we stopping again?”
“No. We’re still moving-oh!! “-once more: violent shock hit them. It was worse than the last one. For nearly a minute everything seemed to be rocking and rattling.
“This is outrageous!” exclaimed the well-informed man, once more opening the window. This time he was more fortunate. A dark figure waving a lantern was walking past beneath him.
“Hi! Porter! Guard!” he bellowed.
“It’s all right, ladies and gentlemen, it’s all right, keep your seats,” shouted the dark figure, marching past and ignoring him.
“There’s no good letting all that cold air in, sir,” said the passenger next the window.
“There’s some sort of light ahead,” said the well-informed man.
“Signal against us?” asked another.
“No. Not a bit like that. The whole sky’s lit up. Like a fire, or like searchlights.”
“I don’t care what it’s like,” said the chilly man.
“If only-oh!”
Another shock. And then, far away in the darkness, vague disastrous noise. The train began to move again, still slowly, as if it were groping its way.
“I’ll make a row about this,” said the well-informed man. “It’s a scandal.”
About half an hour later the lighted platform of Sterk slowly loomed alongside.
“Station Announcer calling,” said a voice. “Please keep your seats for an important announcement. Slight earthquake shock and floods have rendered the line to Edgestow impassable. No details available. Passengers for Edgestow are advised . . .”
The well-informed man, who was Curry, got out. Such a man always knows all the officials on a railway, and in a few minutes he was standing by the fire in the ticket-collector’s office getting a further and private report of the disaster.
“Well, we don’t exactly know yet, Mr. Curry,” said the man. “There’s been nothing coming through for about an hour. It’s very bad, you know. They’re putting the best face on it they can. There’s never been an earthquake like it in England from what I can hear. And there’s the floods, too. No, sir, I’m afraid you’ll find nothing of Bracton College. All that part of the town went almost at once. It began there, I understand. I don’t know what the casualties’ll be. I’m glad I got my old Dad out last week.”
Curry always in later years regarded this as one of the turning-points of his life. He had not up till then been a religious man. But the word that now instantly came into his mind was “Providential.” You couldn’t really look at it any other way. He’d been within an ace of taking the earlier train: and if he had . . . why, he’d have been a dead man by now. It made one think. The whole College wiped out! It would have to be rebuilt. There’d be a complete (or almost complete) new set of Fellows, a new Warden. It was Providential again that some responsible person should have been spared to deal with such a tremendous crisis. There couldn’t be an ordinary election, of course. The College Visitor (who was the Lord Chancellor) would probably have to appoint a new Warden and then, in collaboration with him, a nucleus of new Fellows. The more he thought of it, the more fully Curry realised that the whole shaping of the future college rested with the sole survivor. It was almost like being a second founder. Providential-providential. He saw already in imagination the portrait of that second founder in the new-built hall, his statue in the new-built quadrangle, the long, long chapter consecrated to him in the College History. All this time, and without the least hypocrisy, habit and instinct had given his shoulders just such a droop, his eyes such a solemn sternness, his brow such a noble gravity, as a man of good feeling might be expected to exhibit on hearing such news. The ticket-collector was greatly edified.
“You could see he felt it bad,” as he said afterwards.
“But he could take it. He’s a fine old chap.”
“When is the next train to London?” asked Curry.
“I must be in town first thing to-morrow morning.”
VI
Ivy Maggs, it will be remembered, had left the diningroom for the purpose of attending to Mr. Bultitude’s comfort. It therefore surprised everyone when she returned in less than a minute with a wild expression on her face.
“Oh, come quick, someone. Come quick!” she gasped.
“There’s a bear in the kitchen.”
“A bear, Ivy?” said the Director. “But of course “
“Oh, I don’t mean Mr. Bultitude, sir. There’s a strange bear; another one.”
“Indeed!”
“And it’s eaten up all what was left of the goose and half the ham and all the junket, and now it’s lying along the table eating everything as it goes along and wriggling from one dish to another and a-breaking all the crockery. Oh, do come quick! There’ll be nothing left.”
“And what line is Mr. Bultitude taking about all this, Ivy?” asked Ransom.
“Well, that’s what I want someone to come and see. He’s carrying on something dreadful, sir. I never see anything like it. First of all he just stood lifting up his legs in a funny way as if he thought he could dance, which we all know he can’t. But now he’s got up on the dresser on his hind legs and there he’s kind of bobbing up and down, making the awfullest noise-squeaking like-and he’s put one foot into the plum pudding already and he’s got his head all mixed up in the string of onions and I can’t do nothing with him, really I can’t.”
“This is very odd behaviour for Mr. Bultitude. You don’t think, my dear, that the stranger might be a she bear?”
“Oh, don’t say that, sir!” exclaimed Ivy with extreme dismay.
“I think that’s the truth, Ivy. I strongly suspect that this is the future Mrs. Bultitude.”
“It’ll be the present Mrs. Bultitude if we sit here talking about it much longer,” said MacPhee, rising to his feet.
“Oh dear, what shall we do?” said Ivy.
“I am sure Mr. Bultitude is quite equal to the situation,” replied the Director. “At present the lady is refreshing herself. Sine Cerere et Baccho, Dimble. We can trust them to manage their own affairs.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” said MacPhee. “But not in our kitchen.”
“Ivy, my dear,” said Ransom, “you must be very firm. Go into the kitchen and tell the strange bear I want to see her. You wouldn’t be afraid, would you?”
“Afraid? Not me. I’ll show her who’s the Director here. Not that it isn’t only natural for her.”
“What’s the matter with that Jackdaw?” said Dr. Dimble.
