“Very good for a school of comparative anatomy,” said Tiffles to Marcus (in facetious allusion to the deadheads), “but decidedly bad for my panorama.”

Marcus responded with a dreary smile through the pigeon hole.

Then there came a few more mechanics and other plain people, and then a streak of fortune—­an entire young ladies’ seminary, headed by the preceptress, and divided into squads, each commanded by an assistant teacher acting as drill sergeant.  They were admitted at half price (as per advertisement), and brought five dollars and sixty-two cents into the treasury.  Tiffles rubbed his eyes at the sight of such a troop of blooming faces, and his hands at the thought of the grand accession to his cash box.  The female seminary was accommodated with the two front rows of the best seats left.

Following the seminary, in an unprecedented sequence of luck, was a boys’ school, that came whooping up the stairway like a tribe of young Indians, in charge of a venerable sachem in spectacles.  In the rush and excitement of the moment, several of them ran toll—­a circumstance of which the old gentleman did not take cognizance when he settled with Marcus Wilkeson for their admission at twelve and a half cents per capita.  Marcus had not noticed it, and Tiffles was far too generous to make a fuss about a few shillings.

Then a party of six flashily dressed young men, who threw away their cigars as they came up stairs, and thrust their quarters through the pigeon hole at Marcus Wilkeson, as if they were good for nothing—­which proved to be true of two of them.  Being informed of the fact by Marcus, the owners of the counterfeits winked at each other, and whispered, “No go,” and then offered a broken bill on a Connecticut bank.  This also proved “no go,” whereat the sharp practitioners winked again and laughed, and this time paid out good current coin.  These were some of the fast men of the village.  They took seats behind the female seminary.

Luck changed again, and brought in the landlord, Mr. Persimmon, P.M., Mr. Boolpin, and three more free tickets, with their wives and families.  Mr. Boolpin whispered in Tiffles’s ear, that he hoped there wouldn’t be a row; but it was a hard-looking crowd that had just gone in ahead of him.  And there were plenty more of them coming.

The latter observation proved true.  The next minute, the stairs swarmed with a jovial party, under the leadership of a gorgeous person, who wore in the middle of his snowy shirt front a cluster diamond pin larger than a ten-cent piece.  This was one of the gentlemanly conductors on the railroad; and the mixed company which he had the honor to command, was composed of ticket sellers, freight masters, brakemen, civil engineers, and clerks of liberal dispositions and small salaries in various walks of life.  The party was slightly drunk, but not offensive.  The gentlemanly conductor paid for himself and associates out of a huge side pocket full of loose silver.  They rolled up the hall, and took the nearest spare seats to the female seminary.