AUNT MARY (sternly). Agnes, do as I say. [MRS. ROBERTS crouches down on
the lower berth.] I don't choose that any member of my family shall
witness my contortions. Don't you look.
MRS. ROBERTS. No, no, aunty.
AUNT MARY. Now, porter, are you strong?
PORTER. I used to be porter at a Saratoga hotel, and carried up de
ladies' trunks dere.
AUNT MARY. Then you'll do, I think. Now, then, your knee; now your
back. There! And very handsomely done. Thanks.
MRS. ROBERTS. Are you really in, Aunt Mary?
AUNT MARY (dryly). Yes. Good-night.
MRS. ROBERTS. Good-night, aunty. [After a pause of some minutes.]
Aunty!
AUNT MARY. Well, what?
MRS. ROBERTS. Do you think it's perfectly safe?
[She rises in her berth, and looks up over the edge of the upper.]
AUNT MARY. I suppose so. It's a well-managed road. They've got the air-
brake, I've heard, and the Miller platform, and all those horrid things.
What makes you introduce such unpleasant subjects?
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, I don't mean accidents. But, you know, when you turn,
it does creak so awfully. I shouldn't mind myself; but the baby--
AUNT MARY. Why, child, do you think I'm going to break through? I
couldn't. I'm one of the _lightest_ sleepers in the world.
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, I know you're a light sleeper; but--but it doesn't
seem quite the same thing, somehow.
AUNT MARY. But it is; it's quite the same thing, and you can be
perfectly easy in your mind, my dear. I should be quite as loth to break
through as you would to have me. Good-night.
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes; good-night, Aunty!
AUNT MARY. Well?
MRS. ROBERTS. You ought to just see him, how he's lying. He's a perfect
log. _Couldn't_ you just bend over, and peep down at him a moment?
AUNT MARY. Bend over! It would be the death of me. Good-night.
MRS. ROBERTS. Good-night. Did you put the glass into my bag or yours? I
feel so very thirsty, and I want to go and get some water. I'm sure I
don't know why I should be thirsty. Are you, Aunt Mary? Ah! here it is.
Don't disturb yourself, aunty; I've found it. It was in my bag, just
where I'd put it myself. But all this trouble about Willis has made me
so fidgety that I don't know where anything is. And now I don't know how
to manage about the baby while I go after the water. He's sleeping
soundly enough now; but if he should happen to get into one of his
rolling moods, he might tumble out on to the floor. Never mind, aunty,
I've thought of something. I'll just barricade him with these bags and
shawls. Now, old fellow, roll as much as you like. If you should happen
to hear him stir, aunty, won't you--aunty! Oh, dear! she's asleep
already; and what shall I do? [While MRS. ROBERTS continues talking,
various notes of protest, profane and otherwise, make themselves heard
from different berths.] I know. I'll make a bold dash for the water,
and be back in an instant, baby. Now, don't you move, you little rogue.
[She runs to the water-tank at the end of the car, and then back to her
berth.] Now, baby, here's mamma again. Are you all right, mamma's own?
[A shaggy head and bearded face are thrust from the curtains of the next
berth.]
THE STRANGER. Look here, ma'am. I don't want to be disagreeable about
this thing, and I hope you won't take any offence; but the fact is, I'm
half dead for want of sleep, and if you'll only keep quiet now a little
while, I'll promise not to speak above my breath if ever I find you on a
sleeping-car after you've come straight through from San Francisco, day
and night, and not been able to get more than about a quarter of your
usual allowance of rest--I will indeed.
MRS. ROBERTS. I'm very sorry that I've disturbed you, and I'll try to be
more quiet. I didn't suppose I was speaking so loud; but the cars keep
up such a rattling that you never can tell how loud you _are_ speaking.
Did I understand you to say that you were from California?
THE CALIFORNIAN. Yes, ma'am.
MRS. ROBERTS. San Francisco?
THE CALIFORNIAN. Yes, ma'am.
MRS. ROBERTS. Thanks. It's a terribly long journey, isn't it? I know
quite how to feel for you. I've a brother myself coming on. In fact we
expected him before this. [She scans his face as sharply as the lamp-
light will allow, and continues, after a brief hesitation.] It's always
such a silly question to ask a person, and I suppose San Francisco is a
large place, with a great many people always coming and going, so that it
would be only one chance in a thousand if you did.
THE CALIFORNIAN (patiently). Did what, ma'am?
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, I was just wondering if it was possible--but of course
it isn't, and it's very flat to ask--that you'd ever happened to meet my
brother there. His name is Willis Campbell.
THE CALIFORNIAN (with more interest). Campbell? Campbell? Yes, I know
a man of that name. But I disremember his first name. Little low
fellow--pretty chunky?
MRS. ROBERTS. I don't know. Do you mean short and stout?
THE CALIFORNIAN. Yes, ma'am.
MRS. ROBERTS. I'm sure I can't tell. It's a great many years since he
went out there, and I've never seen him in all that time. I thought if
you _did_ happen to know him--He's a lawyer.
THE CALIFORNIAN. It's quite likely I know him; and in the morning,
ma'am--
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, excuse me. I'm very sorry to have kept you so long
awake with my silly questions.
THE MAN IN THE UPPER BERTH. Don't apologize, madam. I'm not a
Californian myself, but I'm an orphan, and away from home, and I thank
you, on behalf of all our fellow-passengers, for the mental refreshment
that your conversation has afforded us. _I_ could lie here and listen to
it all night; but there are invalids in some of these berths, and perhaps
on their account it will be as well to defer everything till the morning,
as our friend suggests. Allow me to wish you pleasant dreams, madam.
[THE CALIFORNIAN, while MRS. ROBERTS shrinks back under the curtain of
her berth in dismay, and stammers some inaudible excuse, slowly emerges
full length from his berth.]
THE CALIFORNIAN. Don't you mind me, ma'am; I've got everything but my
boots and coat on. Now, then [standing beside the berth, and looking in
upon the man in the upper tier], you, do you know that this is a lady
you're talking to?
THE UPPER BERTH. By your voice and your shaggy personal appearance I
shouldn't have taken you for a lady--no, sir. But the light is very
imperfect; you may be a bearded lady.
THE CALIFORNIAN. You never mind about my looks. The question is, Do you
want your head rapped up against the side of this car?
THE UPPER BERTH. With all the frankness of your own Pacific slope, no.
MRS. ROBERTS (hastily reappearing). Oh, no, no, don't hurt him. He's
not to blame. I was wrong to keep on talking. Oh, please don't hurt
him!
THE CALIFORNIAN (to THE UPPER BERTH). You hear? Well, now, don't you
speak another word to that lady tonight. Just go on, ma'am, and free
your mind on any little matter you like. I don't want any sleep. How
long has your brother been in California?
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, don't let's talk about it now; I don't want to talk
about it. I thought--I thought--Good-night. Oh, dear! I didn't suppose
I was making so much trouble. I didn't mean to disturb anybody. I--
[MRS. ROBERTS gives way to the excess of her confusion and mortification
in a little sob, and then hides her grief behind the curtains of her
berth. THE CALIFORNIAN slowly emerges again from his couch, and stands
beside it, looking in upon the man in the berth above.]
THE CALIFORNIAN. For half a cent I _would_ rap your head up against that
wall. Making the lady cry, and getting me so mad I can't sleep! Now see
here, you just apologize. You beg that lady's pardon, or I'll have you
out of there before you know yourself. [Cries of "Good!" "That's right!"
and "Make him show himself!" hail MRS. ROBERTS'S champion, and heads,
more or less dishevelled, are thrust from every berth. MRS. ROBERTS
remains invisible and silent, and the loud and somewhat complicated
respiration of her AUNT makes itself heard in the general hush of
expectancy. A remark to the effect that "The old lady seems to enjoy her
rest" achieves a facile applause. THE CALIFORNIAN again addresses the
culprit.] Come, now, what do you say? I'll give you just one-half a
minute.
MRS. ROBERTS (from her shelter). Oh, please, _please_ don't make him say
anything. It was very trying in me to keep him awake, and I know he
didn't mean any offence. Oh, _do_ let him be!
THE CALIFORNIAN. You hear that? You stay quiet the rest of the time;
and if that lady choses to keep us all awake the whole night, don't _you_
say a word, or I'll settle with you in the morning.
[Loud and continued applause, amidst which THE CALIFORNIAN turns from the
man in the berth before him, and restores order by marching along the
aisle of the car in his stocking feet. The heads vanish behind the
curtains. As the laughter subsides, he returns to his berth, and after a
stare up and down the tranquillized car, he is about to retire.]
A VOICE. Oh, don't just bow. Speak!
[A fresh burst of laughter greets this sally. THE CALIFORNIAN erects
himself again with an air of baited wrath, and then suddenly breaks into
a helpless laugh.]
THE CALIFORNIAN. Gentlemen, you're too many for _me_.
[He gets into his berth, and after cries of "Good for California!"
"You're all right, William Nye!" and "You're several ahead yet!" the
occupants of the different berths gradually relapse into silence, and at
last, as the car lunges onward through the darkness, nothing is heard but
the rhythmical clank of the machinery, with now and then a burst of
audible slumber from MRS. ROBERTS'S aunt MARY.]