"So I'll
have something to write home after all. But I don't care particularly
to have any more such happenings."
For though Richard had taken the whole affair rather coolly he now
found that it had been more the excitement than aught else that had
kept him up, and he was beginning to feel the full force of a most
uncomfortable shaking up.
But this feeling, bordering upon nervous prostration, was not confined
to the boy alone. Every one of the passengers, most of whom had escaped
without a scratch, were decidedly ill at ease.
It was not long ere Richard thought to take a look through the train
for Mr. Joyce.
"He may have got aboard without my seeing him," he said to himself.
And leaving his baggage piled up in the seat, he made the tour from
one end to the other and back.
He was unsuccessful. It was as if the leather merchant had disappeared
for good.
"Hope he turns up," thought the boy. "If he doesn't what am I to do
with his baggage? I don't know where he lives and--Hold up."
He suddenly thought of Mr. Joyce's card, which that gentleman had given
him, but a hasty and then a thorough search convinced him that the bit
of pasteboard was no longer in his possession.
"Must have slipped out of my pocket in the smash-up," he thought.
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