Richard Forrest, Bachelor — page 201: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

192 «oH! I CANNOT! 1 CANNOT!” CHAPTER XXIII. ‘‘onH ! I CANNOT! I CANNOT!’’ The express from Paris was late. Something went wrong with the cylinder of the engine, and the train had been obliged to wait two hours at Lyons for repairs. No sooner had this been attended to than an air-brake got out of order, and another stop was necessary a few miles farther on. All this required labor and patience, and by the time Marseilles was reached the good-nature of the passengers was well-nigh exhausted. At best, it is a long, wearisome ride, in stuffy quarters, and what with the dust and fatigue, the temper of the pas- sengers was sorely tried. As they issued from the com- partments in the station at Nice, gruff Germans expressed themselves in guttural tones, energetic Frenchmen in quick, jerky sentences fraught with many an exclamation, and shrill-voiced Americans gave vent to their disgust in such terms as: ‘“‘My! but this service is perfectly dreadful—so abomin- ably slow, no system or management whatever !”’ Or: : ‘‘Dear me! it isn’t so in the United States. I tell you, I guess not. Every employee onthe train would get his walking-papers instantly if this occurred there. ”’ Which is right enough, perhaps, in its way, as it only goes to prove how dear to the hearts of its countrymen is this land of progress of ours. One of the first to alight was Dick Forrest, who had ‘‘run up’’ to Paris a fortnight before to see his bankers. In fact, CONNIE OOO KS,EO Kn