Five minutes more elapse, and then he exclaims:
"Drat this 1.45! It doesn't seem to go anywhere. Munich depart
1.45, and that's all. It must go somewhere!"
Apparently, however, it does not. It seems to be a train that
starts out from Munich at 1.45, and goes off on the loose.
Possibly, it is a young, romantic train, fond of mystery. It won't
say where it's going to. It probably does not even know itself. It
goes off in search of adventure.
"I shall start off," it says to itself, "at 1.45 punctually, and
just go on anyhow, without thinking about it, and see where I get
to."
Or maybe it is a conceited, headstrong young train. It will not be
guided or advised. The traffic superintendent wants it to go to St.
Petersburg or to Paris. The old grey-headed station-master argues
with it, and tries to persuade it to go to Constantinople, or even
to Jerusalem if it likes that better - urges it to, at all events,
make up its mind where it IS going - warns it of the danger to young
trains of having no fixed aim or object in life. Other people,
asked to use their influence with it, have talked to it like a
father, and have begged it, for their sakes, to go to Kamskatka, or
Timbuctoo, or Jericho, according as they have thought best for it;
and then, finding that it takes no notice of them, have got wild
with it, and have told it to go to still more distant places.
