What's Bred in the Bone

It was late when Elma reached the station. Her pony had jibbed on the way downhill and the train was just on the point of moving off as she hurried upon the platform. Old Matthews the stout and chubby-cheeked station-master seized her most unceremoniously by the left arm and bundled her into a carriage. He had known her from a child so he could venture upon such liberties. Second class miss? Yes miss. Here y'are. Look sharp please. Any more goin' on? All right Tom! Go ahead there! And lifting his left hand he whistled a shrill signal to the guard to start her. As for Elma somewhat hot in the face with the wild rush for her ticket and grasping her uncounted change pence and all in her little gloved hand she found herself thrust hap-hazard at the very last moment into the last compartment of the last carriage-alone-with an artist.