The journey from San Francisco to Chicago, once the fruit country is
passed, is drearily tedious, and I was never so tired of a train. The
spacious compartments that one travelled in on the Indian journeys,
where there are four arm-chairs and a bath-room, are a bad preparation
for the long narrow American cars packed with humanity, and for the
very inadequate washing-room, which is also the negro attendant's
bed-chamber: "Although," he explained to me, "when the car isn't full
I always sleep in Berth Number 1." If the night could be indefinitely
prolonged, these journeys would be more tolerable; but for the general
comfort the sleeping berths must be converted into seats at an early
hour. In addition to books, I had, as a means of beguilement, the
society of a returned exile from the Philippines, who told me the story
of his life, showed me the necklace he was taking home to his daughter's
wedding, and asked my advice as to the wisdom or unwisdom of marrying
again, the lady of his wavering choice having been at school with him in
New England and being now a widow in Nebraska with property of her own.
Besides being thus garrulous and open, he was the most helpful man I
ever met, acting as a nurse to the three or four restless children in
the car, and even producing from his bag a pair of scissors and a bottle
of gum with which to make dolls' paper clothes. Never in my life have
I called a stranger "Ed" on such short acquaintance; never have I been
called "Poppa" so often by the peevish progeny of others.
It was on this train that I began to realise how much thirstier the
Americans are than we. The passengers were continually filling and
emptying the little cups that are stacked beside the fountains in the
corridors, and long before we reached Chicago the cups had all been
used. In England only children drink water at odd times and they not to
excess. But in America every one drinks water, and the water is there
for drinking, pure and cold and plentiful. It is beside the bed, in the
corners of offices, awaiting you at meals, jingling down the passages of
hotels, bubbling in the streets. In English restaurants, water bottles
are rarely supplied until asked for; in our hotel bedrooms they seldom
bear lifting to the light. As to whether the general health of
the Americans is superior or inferior to ours by reason of this
water-drinking custom, I have no information; but figures would be
interesting.