Little
streets ascended the hillsides; no more trams, 'buses, too, had
disappeared, and afoot the folk hurried along the lonely pavements of
their suburbs. At Clapham Junction betting men had crowded the platform;
they all wore grey overcoats with race-glasses slung over their shoulders.
And the train still rolled through the brick wilderness which old John
said was all country forty years ago.
The men puffed at their pipes, and old John's anecdotes about the days
when he and the Gaffer, in company with all the great racing men of the
day, used to drive down by road, were listened to with admiration. Esther
had finished telling the circumstances in which she had met Margaret; and
Sarah questioned her about William and how her marriage had come about.
The train had stopped outside of a little station, and the blue sky, with
its light wispy clouds, became a topic of conversation. Old John did not
like the look of those clouds, and the women glanced at the waterproofs
which they carried on their arms.
They passed bits of common with cows and a stray horse, also a little
rural cemetery; but London suddenly began again parish after parish, the
same blue roofs, the same tenement houses. The train had passed the first
cedar and the first tennis lawn. And knowing it to be a Derby excursion
the players paused in their play and looked up.
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