haps I should have remembered I had never spoken to
him till that morning, but.....

"The supreme court congratulates the inferior court on the wisdom of
its decision," I said, with an elaborate bow to Dad to hide my
confusion.

"It's settled!" cried Dad. "This is quite the nicest thing that ever
happened," said Mr. Porter. "If only you knew how grateful I am. I
feel like--like giving three cheers, and tossing my hat in the air."

"The inferior court rules against hat-tossing as irrelevant,
immaterial, and incompetent."

"Ruling sustained," I said.

"And they call this a free country!"

"The newspapers don't. Read the newspapers my boy."

"At any rate, I now belong to the privileged class. When do we
leave, Mr. Middleton?"

"Elizabeth says to-morrow. We go by rather a slow train."

"But why?" I began.

"Because, my dear, an all-wise Providence has decreed that express
trains shall not haul private cars."

"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Mr. Porter. "That makes all the difference in
the world."

"Only a day's difference."

"I mean....."

"You're going as our guest, you know."

"But really, Mr. Middleton, I never....."

"Don't be absurd, my boy."

"No," said Mr. Blakely Porter, "I won't be absurd. I shall be more
than glad to go as your guest."

"That's the way it should be. Isn't it, Elizabeth!"

"I didn't know you owned a private car, Dad."

"Pshaw!" said Dad. "What's a private car?"

I smiled at what I was pleased to term "Dad's magnificence," little
thinking I was soon to look on private cars as one of the most
delectable of modern inventions.

Chapter Five

Our train left Grand Central Station at two o'clock next afternoon;
it was bitter cold, I remember, and I drove to the station,
smothered in furs. But our car was wonderfully cozy and comfortable,
and it warmed my heart to see how proud Dad was of it: I must
inspect the kitchen; this was my stateroom, did I like it? I mustn't
judge Amos by his appearance, but the way he could cook--he was a
wonder at making griddle cakes. Did I still like griddle cakes? "And
do look at the books and magazines Mr. Porter brought. And a box of
chocolates, too. Wasn't it kind of him?" Dear Dad! He was like a
child with a new toy.

I'm sure he enjoyed every minute of the trip. Mr. Porter played
cribbage with him (Dad adores cribbage) by the hour; they talked
railroads, and politics, and mining--I don't think Dad had been so
happy in years. I know I ha