“Of course Ingred was the heroine of the hour. As she was being escorted to the pavilion, flushed but triumphant, Miss Giles said to her: ‘Well played! I am proud of you!’
“Those few words of praise meant a good deal to Ingred, and we all felt how well she deserved them, especially as it was only by accident that she played in the team at all.
“I do hope I have not tired you by going too fully into our match, but I know you are interested in our school games, hockey in particular. I will tell you about our later fixtures when I see you at Christmas, so until then—Goodbye.
VIII
An Unpleasant Experience
The girls filed out from the hockey ground as speedily as possible. There was a train due from Grovebury in about a quarter of an hour. They walked to the station in groups, discussing details of the match as they went. Ingred, Beatrice, and Verity happened to be blocked at the exit by the Clintonian team, and were obliged to wait some minutes before they could pass, and when at last they were through the gate, all their own schoolfellows were disappearing up the road.
“We needn’t run after them—I believe we’ve plenty of time,” said Verity. “We can almost see the station from here. I say, aren’t you fearfully hungry? I’m literally starving. Let’s find a confectioner’s and each buy a bun before we go.”
Both Beatrice and Ingred felt that they required fortifying before they started for home, so they dived into the nearest pastry-cook’s and demanded buns. They were eating them rather hastily, when Linda Slater entered the shop in company with a gentleman, evidently her father. She hailed her classmates, and at once began to talk over the match and rejoice at the school victory.
“Who says we’re no good at games now? This has sent up our credit ten percent! I’m proud of the Coll.!”
“Blossom was A1,” exulted Verity.
“And Janie was simply ripping. Dad thought no end of her. Didn’t you, Dad?”
“Well, I’m glad we made something of a record,” admitted Ingred.
“I say,” declared Beatrice, hastily finishing her bun, “if that clock’s right, we must bolt for our train.”
“As a matter of fact, it’s one minute slow,” exclaimed Linda, consulting her watch. “You’ll have to sprint.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No, we have our car here. It’s outside.”
“Those girls will hardly catch their train,” remarked Mr. Slater to Linda, as the three went to the pay desk to settle for their buns. “Couldn’t we stow them into the car, and take them along with us?”
“Oh, no, Dad!” frowned Linda. “There really isn’t room. You promised you’d call at Brantbury and bring Gerald and Eustace back for the afternoon. We couldn’t cram them all in the car!”
“There isn’t time for them to get the train.”
“Oh, yes! You don’t know how they can run!”
Quite unaware of the kindly offer which had been rejected on their behalf, Beatrice, Verity, and Ingred fled from the shop, and hurried with all possible speed in the direction of the railway station. They could see the train coming along the top of the embankment, and it had drawn up at the platform before they reached the passenger entrance. They were not the only late comers. It was Saturday, and a crowd of work people from various factories near were returning to Grovebury.
In company with a very mixed and motley crew they pushed their way up the long flight of steps. A collector stood at the top, and just as they were nearing their goal, he slammed the gate and refused further admission to the platform. They could hear the whistle, and the general bumping of chains that betokened the starting of the carriages. They were exactly half a minute too late! When the train was well out of the station, the collector once more opened his barrier, and the crowd surged on. The three girls, who disliked pushing among a rough assembly, stood on one side to let the people pass by. There was no hurry now, and no object to be gained by forcing their way ahead. Last of all, therefore, they presented themselves at the gate.
“Tickets, please!” repeated the collector automatically.
All three felt in their pockets, but felt in vain. Return tickets and purses were alike missing, and even penknives and handkerchiefs had vanished, Ingred’s pocket, indeed, was neatly turned inside out. Here was a dilemma! They had evidently been robbed on the stairs by a professional thief, who had appropriated all their portable belongings. In utter consternation they looked at one another.
“We’ve lost our tickets!” faltered Beatrice.
“They’ve been stolen!” added Ingred.
“Do please let us through!” entreated Verity.
In ordinary circumstances the collector would no doubt have listened to the girl’s story, and taken them to interview the stationmaster, but today he had to do double duty, and could scarcely cope with the extra work. He had to deal with crowds, and to keep a sharp eye to see that no one defrauded the railway company by travelling without paying the fare. A train was due at the next moment on the other side of the platform, and his services were urgently required at the opposite exit.
“Haven’t you got your tickets?” he demanded curtly. “Then I must close the gate. No one’s allowed on the platform without tickets.”
The advancing train whistled as it ran through the cutting, and, disregarding the girls’ remonstrances, the official locked the barrier. He bolted across the line in front of the engine, just in time to take his place at the other gateway before the rush of passengers began, and probably never gave another thought to the three whom he had just excluded. Left shut out on the top of the station steps, the unlucky trio ruefully reviewed the situation.
“What are we to do?” demanded Ingred breathlessly.
“Goodness only knows!” sighed Verity.
“We’re in a very awkward fix!” admitted Beatrice.
They were much
