A ragged little boy overheard her remark, and came running after her. "Buy a box of cigar-lights, Miss!" he pleaded, pulling her shawl to attract her attention. Clara stopped to explain.
"I never smoke cigars," she said in a meekly apologetic tone. "Our excellent preceptress," but Mad Mathesis impatiently hurried her on, and the little boy was left gazing after her with round eyes of amazement.
The two ladies bought their tickets and moved slowly down the central platform, Mad Mathesis prattling on as usual—Clara silent, anxiously reconsidering the calculation on which she rested her hopes of winning the match.
"Mind where you go, dear!" cried her aunt, checking her just in time. "One step more, and you'd have been in that pail of cold water!"
"I know, I know," Clara said, dreamily. "The pale, the cold, and the moony"
"Take your places on the spring-boards!" shouted a porter.
"What are they for!" Clara asked in a terrified whisper.
"Merely to help us into the trains." The elder lady spoke with the nonchalance of one quite used
