CHAPTER IV
THE MUSE OF DISTANT JOURNEYS
AN hour before the arrival of the evening express Father Theodore, dressed in a short overcoat reaching just below his knees, and carrying a basket in his hand, stood in the queue at the ticket-office. He cast furtive glances towards the door, for he was terrified that his wife would not obey him and would run to the station to see him off. Then, of course, a friend of his who was sitting in the refreshment-room treating another man to beer would recognize him immediately.
It was the usual disorderly business trying to get into the train, where none of the seats could be reserved. The passengers, bent down under the weight of enormous bundles, ran hither and thither from one end of the train to the other, looking for seats. Father Theodore, like all the rest of them, was running about like a madman, and like all the rest he spoke to the guard politely and was afraid they'd given him the wrong ticket. It was only when he got into the train and sat down that he began to feel better and to cheer up again. Cares
The engine blew its whistle and the train began to move out, taking Father Theodore on a strange, mysterious mission which promised great things.
As soon as a man sets out on a journey he changes his life completely. He is immediately approached by porters in white overalls, who wear nickel labels overt their hearts and who obligingly seize his luggage. From that moment the traveller ceases to belong to himself. He is a passenger and he has to do what other passengers do.
A passenger eats a great deal. Ordinary people do
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