Miller paid no apparent attention to this
little interlude, though no syllable had escaped him. He resumed the
conversation where it had been broken off, but nevertheless followed
with his eyes the conductor, who stopped at a seat near the forward end
of the car, and engaged in conversation with a man whom Miller had not
hitherto noticed.
As this passenger turned his head and looked back toward Miller, the
latter saw a broad-shouldered, burly white man, and recognized in his
square-cut jaw, his coarse, firm mouth, and the single gray eye with
which he swept Miller for an instant with a scornful glance, a
well-known character of Wellington, with whom the reader has already
made acquaintance in these pages. Captain McBane wore a frock coat and a
slouch hat; several buttons of his vest were unbuttoned, and his
solitaire diamond blazed in his soiled shirt-front like the headlight of
a locomotive.
The conductor in his turn looked back at Miller, and retraced his steps.
Miller braced himself for what he feared was coming, though he had
hoped, on account of his friend's presence, that it might be avoided.
"Excuse me, sir," said the conductor, addressing Dr. Burns, "but did I
understand you to say that this man was your servant?"
"No, indeed!" replied Dr. Burns indignantly. "The gentleman is not my
servant, nor anybody's servant, but is my friend. But, by the way, since
we are on the subject, may I ask what affair it is of yours?"
"It's very much my affair," returned the conductor, somewhat nettled at
this questioning of his authority.
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