With a sigh, he turned on his back and stared at the darkness that hid
the ceiling. Ah! A profuse perspiration had broken out on his neck and
chest. To give himself more air he pulled down the too generous supply
of bed clothes, and in imagination he followed the cart.
It was progressing slowly and steadily along the five miles of road to
the railway junction. Would Perkins, the driver, break the regulations
to-night and pick up somebody for a ride with the sacred bags? Such a
gross breach of duty would render Perkins, or his employer, liable to
a heavy penalty; and again and again Dale had reminded him of the
risks attending misbehavior. But unwatched men grow bold. This would
be a night to bring temptation in the way of Perkins. Some
villager--workman, field-laborer, wood-cutter--tramping the road would
perhaps ask for a lift. "What cheer, mate! I'm for the night-mail.
Give us a lift's far as junction, and I'll stan' the price of a pint
to you."
A glance up and down the empty road--and then "Jump in. Wunnerful
weather we're having, aren't us?" So much for the wise regulation!
_Most_ wise regulation, if one understand it properly. For when once
you begin tampering with the inviolable nature of a mail-cart, where
are you to stop? Suppose your chance passenger proves to be not an
honest subject, but a malefactor--_one of a gang_.
Pages:
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37