eight cars.

He was so close to the oldest Corner House girl now that she could view
his countenance easily without appearing to be curious. But she was
curious about the old gentleman. However, being Ruth Kenway, she would
not have shown this in any way to ruffle his feelings; for, despite her
own youth, Ruth had mothered her three orphaned sisters for so long that
she was more sedate and thoughtful than most girls of her age.

Just at this moment the Cannon-Ball Express came tearing into view,
shrieking its warning for the Pleasant Street crossing. The old
gentleman was standing too near the rails, in Ruth's opinion. She
involuntarily put forth her hand and seized hold of his coat. He turned
to glare upon the freshly dressed, sweet-looking girl beside him with
what would have been an audible grunt of disapproval had the oncoming
train not made such a noise and with a look that caused her to drop her
hand immediately.

His face was a marvelous network of wrinkles; he wore amber
dust-goggles; his mouth was a grim slit in his brown face, like the trap
of a letter-box. It did not seem possible that any one could look on
Ruth Kenway's sweet face with such a grim and unkind expression on the
countenance. But the man turned from her with no softening in his look.

The express was now fairly upon them. The suction of such a rapidly
flying train is considerable. And that huge umbrella made the accident
unescapable.

The train shrieked by. Ruth herself felt the wind of it, and her skirts
blew around her body tightly.

The blast got beneath the big umbrella, and Ruth saw the old gentleman
seize hold upon the handle with both hands. The umbrella bellied and
creaked. The last car whisked past, and within the cyclone of flying
sand and gravel which followed it the unfortunate old gentleman was
caught.

Clinging to his umbrella, which was really the cause of all his trouble,
he whirled like a dervish across the second track in the wake of the
express, and stumbling, went to his knees between that set of rails and
the third track, on which the freight train was backing slowly toward
them.

Had he put the umbrella down he would have been all right. But his
stubborn character was displayed to the full by his still gripping the
unwieldy thing and, like "Old Grindstone George," hanging on to the
handle. He staggered to his feet, the umbrella quite hiding the coming
freight train from his view, and stumbled a pace forward, direc