The villagers invaded by preference the
best coaches, believing that they would there find more room. Those
holding first-class tickets hunted up the plainer coaches in the vain
hope of travelling without being crowded. On the cross roads were
waiting from the day before long trains made up of cattle cars. All the
stables on wheels were filled with people seated on the wooden floor or
in chairs brought from their homes. Every train load was an encampment
eager to take up its march; whenever it halted, layers of greasy papers,
hulls and fruit skins collected along its entire length.
The invaders, pushing their way in, put up with many annoyances and
pardoned one another in a brotherly way. "In war times, war measures,"
they would always say as a last excuse. And each one was pressing closer
to his neighbor in order to make a few more inches of room, and helping
to wedge his scanty baggage among the other bundles swaying most
precariously above. Little by little, Desnoyers was losing all his
advantage as a first comer. These poor people who had been waiting for
the train from four in the morning till eight at night, awakened
his pity. The women, groaning with weariness, were standing in the
corridors, looking with ferocious envy at those who had seats. The
children were bleating like hungry kids. Julio finally gave up his
place, sharing with the needy and improvident the bountiful supply of
eatables with which Argensola had provided him.
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