tleman just got mixed in the night. That's all, sir." It was
clear that he thought I had been drinking.

I drew a long breath. Of course, that was the explanation. This was
number seven's berth, that was his soft hat, this his umbrella, his
coat, his bag. My rage turned to irritation at myself.

The porter went to the next berth and I could hear his softly
insinuating voice. "Time to get up, sir. Are you awake? Time to get up."

There was no response from number nine. I guessed that he had opened the
curtains and was looking in. Then he came back.

"Number nine's empty," he said.

"Empty! Do you mean my clothes aren't there?" I demanded. "My valise?
Why don't you answer me?"

"You doan' give me time," he retorted. "There ain't nothin' there. But
it's been slept in."

The disappointment was the greater for my few moments of hope. I sat
up in a white fury and put on the clothes that had been left me. Then,
still raging, I sat on the edge of the berth and put on the obnoxious
tan shoes. The porter, called to his duties, made little excursions back
to me, to offer assistance and to chuckle at my discomfiture. He stood
by, outwardly decorous, but with little irritating grins of amusement
around his mouth, when I finally emerged with the red tie in my hand.

"Bet the owner of those clothes didn't become them any more than you
do," he said, as he plied the ubiquitous whisk broom.

"When I get the owner of these clothes," I retorted grimly, "he will
need a shroud. Where's the conductor?"

The conductor was coming, he assured me; also that there was no bag
answering the description of mine on the car. I slammed my way to the
dressing-room, washed, choked my fifteen and a half neck into a fifteen
collar, and was back again in less than five minutes. The car, as well
as its occupants, was gradually taking on a daylight appearance. I
hobbled in, for one of the shoes was abominably tight, and found myself
facing a young woman in blue with an unforgettable face. ("Three women
already." McKnight says: "That's going some, even if you don't count
the Gilmore nurse.") She stood, half-turned toward me, one hand idly
drooping, the other steadying her as she gazed out at the flying
landscape. I had an instant impression that I had met her somewhere,
under different circumstances, more cheerful ones, I thought, for the
girl's dejection now was evident. Beside her, sitting down, a small dark
woman, considerably older, was talking i