When the gong clashed at the Albany station at five the next morning, among the passengers on that early train—well-named ' accommodation '—was Mr Thomas. In one hand he held a copy of the city edition of the morning ' Boston Globe.' The other held a ticket to Hartford.
Io was 10.30 before the Charter Oak city was reached. Mr Thomas' first efforts brought him into contact with the Jehus of the Connecticut capital. It was not at all a difficult matter to find the whereabouts of the solitary hack driver who waited for a chance passenger on the night trains ; bub Tom Ludlow was asleep, and the reporter found the time on his hands until noon.
' How are you, sir ?' eaid Ludlow, stretching himself and yawning as he met the inquirer who had been waiting for his awakening. Both were at the door of the hotel-stable. ' A lady fare ? Yes. She'e safe enough. Friend of yours—relative !' Mr Thomas thereupon set forth, with much earnestness, that he had missed tho young woman through an unavoidable accident, that they were going to a friend in Hartford, and that he had been much disturbed over the fact that she had been obliged to mako tho journey ab nighb alone.
