By that time the ticket office was open and he went up to the agent and asked how far he could ride for fifty cents.

The man looked at him closely for a minute.

“Which way?” he inquired then.

“I want to go to Philadelphia,” Rex answered frankly.  All his pride had gone now.  “I’ve only got fifty cents to spend on the ride, though.  I want to get as close to it as I can.”

The agent named a town and passed out a ticket.

When the cars were opened Rex lost no time in settling himself in a seat.  He put his ticket in his hat and went to sleep at once.

The result was that he was carried past his stopping place, and the station at which he was set off was a few miles nearer Philadelphia than he had hoped to get.  But the brakeman told him that the Quaker City was still fifty miles away.

CHAPTER XX

 The crisis

“Fifty miles!”

Rex repeated these words to himself as he stood on the platform of the station and looked after the swiftly vanishing cars.

How soon that train would cover them!  It seemed such a simple thing to stay on board and be carried there, so cruel to be left behind simply for the lack of a little more money.

It was still quite early in the morning.  People were coming down to take the train to the city.  They had all been in their beds and had a good night’s sleep doubtless.  They were much better fitted for a long tramp than was he, who had not been to bed at all.

But he must set off at once.  He asked the baggage man to tell him the road to Philadelphia.

“Sure, there it is, in front of you,” replied the other, pointing to the gleaming steel rails.

“No, no; I mean the carriage road,” returned Rex.

The man looked surprised, but gave him directions how to find it, and presently Rex was tramping down its dusty length.

“But I can never get there by to-night, nor by to-morrow night either,” he kept saying to himself.  “And I shall have to eat, and my money will not hold out till then.”

Again he thought of telegraphing—­ this time to Sydney.  But where should he stay while he was waiting for the answer?  Then he remembered how ill Syd still looked, and he recalled the doctor’s inquiry that afternoon in the office as to whether he had had a shock.

No; he must leave telegraphing as the very last resort of all.

He trudged on, and presently saw a tramp coming towards him.

“Good morning,” said the fellow, halting where he came up.  “What time is it, boss?”

Rex had just looked at his watch, so without taking it out he told the time.

The man took a step closer to him, but just then a cloud of dust appeared in the road, and a buggy came into view.  The tramp moved on without a word.

This incident did not tend to make Rex any more comfortable in mind.  And now his body was beginning to rebel.