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 The rest of the journey didn't seem long, and almost before he knew it the porter routed him out and put him through the whiskbroom degree. In the car the general depression had disappeared and the occupants were restlessly tugging at coats and bags and discarding newspapers and looking hopeful. Wade got into his own coat and moved his bag into the aisle. The Girl had donned her checked coat and was sitting erect, anxious, ready for action. They stopped a moment at Back Bay and then went on.

"Boston! Boston!" called the porter. "Leave by the rear door!"

Wade was one of the first out, but on the platform he drew aside and waited. It was just nine minutes past eight. The Girl and her aunt and the maid descended hurriedly, porters seized their luggage and they scurried toward the gates. Wade followed at a discreet distance. There was only one pause in that mad exodus, and that came when a small boy in a gray ulster