The town had not vitality enough left to be grateful; the railway stimulant produced no effect.

Of all his colleagues in Great Britain and Ireland, the station-master at Honeybuzzard was the idlest man--and this, as he said to the unemployed porter, through no want of energy on his own part.
Late on a rainy autumn afternoon, the slow train left one traveller at the Station.

He got out of a first-class carriage; he carried an umbrella and a travelling-bag; and he asked his way to the best inn.
The station-master and the porter compared notes.

One of them said: "Evidently a gentleman." The other added: "What can he possibly want here ?" The stranger twice lost his way in the tortuous old streets of the town before he reached the inn.

On giving his orders, it appeared that he wanted three things: a private room, something to eat, and, while the dinner was being cooked, materials for writing a letter.
Answering her daughter's questions downstairs, the landlady described her guest as a nice-looking man dressed in deep mourning.