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 A moment later a glare of light beat on his closed lids and he opened his eyes to find the train running cautiously by the scene of the wreck. The track was cleared, but the wreckage was piled heterogenously along the cut and in the confusion Italians were working frantically under the light of dozens of naphtha torches. The wrecked engine came into sight, lying on its side with its great driving-wheels pathetically in air. Then the glow died away behind and the train was speeding on through the darkness. Wade reached up and tried the door, but, as he had expected, it was locked. So he settled himself as comfortably as he could, closed his eyes again to keep out the cinders and waited for New London. Luckily, since traveling crouched up on the back steps of the rear car is anything but pleasant, that stop was soon reached and Wade crawled down stiff and weary and covered with dust and cinders and hurried along the platform.

"Can I get a seat?" he asked the conductor.