MELCHISIDEC put
his veto on this, and, looking at the Dilapidated One critically, as
if he was wondering how much he weighed, if it came to carrying him,
came in with a judicial "No! no! I think we can manage to get him to
the Buffet," which settled the matter; and with the announcement that
we had all of us "_vingt-trois minutes d'arret_," we found ourselves
stepping across the growing dusk of the platform, into the cheerful
and brightly-lighted Station _Restaurant_, where a capital and
comfortable meal, excellently served, was awaiting us. And, O ye
shades of Rugby, Swindon, Crewe, Grantham, and I know not what other
British Railway feeding centres, at which I have been harassed,
scalded, and finally hurried away unfed, would that you could take a
lesson from the admirable management, consideration for the digestion
of the hungry passengers, and general all-round thoughtfulness that
characterises the taking of that meal "_de voyage_" at Tergnier.
[Illustration: Nach Engelberg!
* To be continued till further notice.]
To begin with, you have about finished your soup, when a station
official appears at the door and informs all the feeding passengers
in an assuring and encouraging voice that they have "_encore dix-huit
minutes_"--as much as to say, "Pray, my dear Monsieur, or Madame,
as the case may be, do not hurry over that capital portion of _boeuf
braise a l'Imperiale_, but enjoy its full flavour at your perfect
leisure.
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