THE PORTER. Was your wife expecting you to come on board here?
MR. ROBERTS. Well, no, not exactly. She was expecting me to meet her at
Boston. But I--[struggling to give the situation dignity, but failing,
and throwing himself, with self-convicted silliness, upon THE PORTER'S
mercy.] The fact is, I thought I would surprise her by joining her here.
THE PORTER (refusing to have any mercy). Oh! How did you expect to find
her?
MR. ROBERTS. Well--well--I don't know. I didn't consider. [He looks
down the aisle in despair at the close-drawn curtains of the berths, and
up at the dangling hats and bags and bonnets, and down at the chaos of
boots of both sexes on the floor.] I don't know _how_ I expected to find
her.
[MR. ROBERTS'S countenance falls, and he visibly sinks so low in his own
esteem and an imaginary public opinion that THE PORTER begins to have a
little compassion.]
THE PORTER. Dey's so many ladies on board _I_ couldn't find her.
MR. ROBERTS. Oh, no, no, of course not. I didn't expect that.
THE PORTER. Don't like to go routing 'em all up, you know. I wouldn't
be allowed to.
MR. ROBERTS. I don't ask it; that would be preposterous.
THE PORTER. What sort of looking lady was she?
MR. ROBERTS. Well, I don't know, really. Not very tall, rather slight,
blue eyes. I--I don't know what you'd call her nose. And--stop! Oh
yes, she had a child with her, a little boy. Yes!
THE PORTER (thoughtfully looking down the aisle). Dey was three ladies
had children. I didn't notice whether dey was boys or girls, or _what_
dey was. Didn't have anybody with her?
MR. ROBERTS. No, no. Only the child.
THE PORTER. Well, I don't know what you are going to do, sah. It won't
be a great while now till morning, you know. Here comes the conductor.
Maybe he'll know what to do.
[MR. ROBERTS makes some futile, inarticulate attempts to prevent The
PORTER from laying the case before THE CONDUCTOR, and then stands
guiltily smiling, overwhelmed with the hopeless absurdity of his
position.]
THE CONDUCTOR (entering the car, and stopping before THE PORTER, and
looking at MR. ROBERTS). Gentleman want a berth?
THE PORTER (grinning). Well, no, sah. He's lookin' for his wife.
THE CONDUCTOR (with suspicion). Is she aboard this car?
MR. ROBERTS (striving to propitiate THE CONDUCTOR by a dastardly
amiability). Oh, yes, yes. There's no mistake about the car--the
Governor Marcy. She telegraphed the name just before you left Albany, so
that I could find her at Boston in the morning. Ah!
THE CONDUCTOR. At Boston. [Sternly.] Then what are you trying to find
her at Worcester in the middle of the night for?