"Yours? Sorry, the conductor just assigned me here. Evidently there's
been some mistake."
"I suggest you rectify it, Mr. Stevenson."
Out in the corridor a voice, heavy with Britishisms, complained
plaintively, "Did you ever hear the loik? They put men and women into
the same compartment. Oim expected to sleep with a loidy in the bunk
under me."
Hank cleared his throat, didn't allow himself the luxury of a smile.
He said, "I'll see what I can do, Char. Seems to me I did read
somewhere that the Russkies see nothing wrong in putting strangers in
the same sleeping compartment."
Char Moore stood there, saying nothing but breathing deeply enough to
express American womanhood insulted.
"All right, all right," he said, retying his shoes and retrieving his
glasses. "I didn't engineer this." He went looking for the conductor.
He was back, yawning by this time, fifteen minutes later. Char Moore
was sitting on the side of the bottom bunk, sipping a glass of tea
that she'd bought for a few kopecks from the portress. She looked up
coolly as he entered, but her voice was more pleasant. "Get everything
fixed?"