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Updated: May 31, 2025
While our engine-driver was harnessing his iron steed, another of the railway servants, having eaten his dinner, felt himself rather sleepy, and resolved to have a short nap. It was our friend Sam Natly, the porter, who came to this unwise as well as unfair resolution.
Natly has been goin' about the station a good deal of late, because the wife of one of the men is a friend of his wife, and used to go up to nurse her sometimes when she was ill.
So saying, Sam Natly assisted Gertie down the long iron ladder, by which his nest was reached, and walked with her to the engine-shed, which they soon reached. They had not waited long before John Marrot's iron horse came panting slowly into its accustomed stable.
Joseph Tipps, having got leave of absence for an evening, was also there, modest amiable, active and self-abnegating. So was Mrs Natly, who, in consideration of her delicate health, was taken great care of, and very much made of, by Mrs Tipps and her family conspicuously by Mrs Durby, who had become very fond of her since the night she nursed her.
Time had done little to Mrs Marrot, beyond increasing her bulk and the rosiness of her countenance. It would be tedious to comment on all our old friends who assembled in the schoolroom on that memorable occasion. Sam Natly was also there, with his invalid wife restored to robust health, and supported on either side by a blooming boy and girl.
Poor Edwin thought of Captain Lee, who lay bleeding on the floor, and of Emma, and the power of thought was so potential that in his great wrath he almost lifted the three men in the air; but they clung to him like leeches, and it is certain that they would have finally overcome him, had he not in one of his frantic struggles thrust his foot below one of the seats and kicked the still slumbering Sam Natly on the nose!
As we have said, just before Gertie's arrival Sam Natly chanced to be attempting to dine. The telegraph needles pointed to "Line clear" on both sides of him. Dinner consisted of a sort of Irish stew cooked in a little square iron pan that fitted into the small stove.
On learning that it was not the accounts so much as the discrepancy between the estimate and the actual expenditure that puzzled his mother, Tipps seized her book, and, turning over the leaves, said, "Here, let me see, I'll soon find it out ah, well, rent yes; taxes, h'm; wine to Mrs Natly, you put that, in your estimate, under the head of food, I suppose?" "N-no, I think not."
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