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He condescended to accept a drink at Didcot Junction; indeed, he did me the honour to ask for it; but when it was consumed he ordered me into a carriage already fully occupied by half a score of my fellow recruits, and in their society I finished the journey to Bristol.
It was a raw December afternoon within a week of the end of term and Taffy had returned from skating in Christ Church meadow, when he found a telegram lying on his table. There was just time to see the Dean, to pack, and to snatch a meal in hall, before rattling off to his train. At Didcot he had the best part of an hour to wait for the night-mail westward. "Your father dangerously ill.
Within an hour we were in a landau driving through the still warm lanes to Didcot. I had seen that Constance's parting with my brother had been tender, and I am not sure that she was not in tears during some part at least of our drive; but I did not observe her closely, having my thoughts elsewhere.
"She can't come. Her aunt has made another engagement for her. You'll meet her at the boats." Lady Laura looked relieved. "Well then, we can go straight to our tea. But of course I wrote. I always do what you tell me, Duggy. Come along, children!" "Trix and I got a packet of Banbury cakes at Didcot," reported Roger, in triumph, showing a greasy paper. "But we've eat 'em all."
Didcot, Swindon, Bath, Bristol, Exeter, Newton Abbot, all followed one after another, and by the time Ernest had reached Calcombe Road Station he had begun to frame for himself a definite plan of future action.
And in any case, what right had I had metaphorically to sit in judgment upon her and jump to conclusions which might be wholly erroneous? The train travelled at express speed through Slough, Didcot, and other small stations. It was within a mile of London, when my thoughts suddenly drifted.
We have already seen that in 1849 the Great Western express ran at a higher rate than at present, being an exception to the general rule; and the fastest journey on record was performed at this time by one of these engines, when on May 14, 1848, the Great Britain took this Bristol express, consisting of four coaches and a van, to Didcot, fifty-three miles, in forty-seven minutes, or at the average speed of sixty-eight miles an hour.
On the right the Chiltern Hills are seen in the background, and Wittenham Clump stands forth a conspicuous object for miles. The country round Didcot reminds one very much of the north of France: between Calais and Paris one notices the same chalk soil, the same flat arable fields, and the same old-fashioned farmhouses and gabled cottages. But now we have entered the grand old Berkshire vale.
Under the blue-grey shadow of the Didcot Bowles bungalow, with beech trees and pussy willows fringing the banks of the river Sippe which runs, or ran before it was dammed, down past old Caesar Earwhacker's bicycle shed, three miles from the village of Sagrada, Conn., to the West and eight miles from Roosefelt under the hill to the North leaving the South free for a Black Rising and the East for the Civil War; there in the seventeenth cottage, with green shutters, below the bridge with the pine cones occasionally tap-tapping against the pantry window owing to a strange combination of circumstances Rupert Plinge's elder sister first saw the light of day.
"How are you, George?" said the uncle, putting out his hand to his nephew, and then instantly turning round and poking the fire. "What sort of a journey have you had from Oxford? Yes, these railways make it all easy. Which line do you use? Didcot, eh? That's wrong. You'll have a smash some of these days with one of those Great Western express trains" Mr.
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