How
different all this was from my girlhood visions of romance.
That has been characteristic of my life all along--it has been
full of homely, workaday happenings, and often rather comic in
spite of my best resolves to be highbrow and serious. All the
same I was something near to tears as I thought of the tragic
wreck at Willdon and the grief-laden hearts that must be
mourning. I wondered whether the Governor was now returning
from Willdon after ordering an inquiry.
On his card he had written: "Please release R. Mifflin at
once and show this lady all courtesies." So I didn't
anticipate any particular trouble. This made me all the more
anxious to push on, and after crossing the ferry we halted in
Woodbridge only long enough for supper. I drove past the bank
where I had waited in the anteroom, and would have been glad
of a chance to horsewhip that sneaking little cashier. I
wondered how they had transported the Professor to Port Vigor,
and thought ironically that it was only that Saturday morning
when he had suggested taking the hoboes to the same jail.
Still I do not doubt that his philosophic spirit had made the
best of it all.
Woodbridge was as dead as any country town is on Sunday night.
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