5 Minutes after Jane Newman stepped down off the parlor car of her own railroad, a hand car came down from the north with four men on it and stopped at the water tank. An old man got off it stifflegged, slapped the dust off his thighs, and started up the platform toward the freight room. He was 61. He had a gray mustache and a steel tape on his belt and a face like a saddle. And he had been roadmaster of the Elorn and Northern since the day there was an Elorn and Northern to be master of.
His name was Hubert Wade. He got about halfway. Then he stopped walking. He stopped in the middle of that platform. He looked at a woman in a worn black coat standing by the depot wall with a little girl and a handful of smashed flowers.
The whole of his face changed and he took his hat off. Mrs. Newman, he said it was not loud. It did not have to be. The platform of a country depot in a lull is about as quiet as a church, and there were 22 people standing on it, and the name went across those boards like a stone skipped on water.
Philip Craig was 6 feet away with his watch in his hand. He heard it. He looked up. Dwight Hopkins was at the shootute talking to a stockman and he turned around with his mouth still open on the last word he had been saying. Up in the parlor car, Pauline Fields set her coffee down.
Hubert Wade came the rest of the way with his hat against his chest. He said he had not seen her since the funeral. He said Clarence had walked him up this very creek in 80 one and told him where the tank was going to stand. Then his voice quit working for a second and he said he was sorry, Mrs. And put his hat back on.
Jane asked him how the north end was holding up. Wde opened his mouth to answer that and then closed it again because Philip Craig had arrived. Philip said carefully that if the lady wished, the road could certainly find her something more suitable up front. "How long before the steers are loaded?" Jane asked. "20 Minutes." "Hold the train," Jane said.
Philip Craig looked at Dwight Hopkins. Dwight Hopkins looked at Hubert Wade. And Hubert Wade, who had built 96 miles of railroad for her husband, and did not give one damn about anybody's hat, said, "You heard her." The train was held. They went into the waiting room, which was one stove, four benches, and a ticket grill, and it filled up because nobody on that platform was going anywhere, and everybody wanted to see. Passengers came down out of the cars.