There are misunderstandings that are never rectified, sometimes because a train draws up at the platform as in this case, and sometimes for other reasons, and it was natural enough that poppa should fail to comprehend Bawlinbuttons’ indignant shouts to the effect that a Kaiser should never be mistaken for an organ-grinder, merely because his tastes are musical.  Neither is it likely that the various Teutons who were waiting for the information will ever understand why the announcement that the train for Saarburg, Nancy, Frankfort, and Mayence would leave at ten o’clock precisely was never completed for the third time, according to the regulation.  But we have often wondered since what Bawlinbuttons did with the coppers.

We divided up on the way to Mayence, and Mr. and Mrs. Malt came into the compartment with the Senator, momma, and me.  Mr. Malt was unsatisfied with poppa’s revenge on Bawlinbuttons, and proposed to make things awkward further for the guard.  He said it could be done very simply, by a disagreement between himself and the Senator as to whether the windows should be open or shut.  He said he had heard of a German guard put to the most enjoyable misery by such a dispute, not knowing the language of the disputants and being forced to arbitrate upon their respective demands.  Mr. Malt had laughed at the Senator’s joke, so the Senator, of course, had to assist at Mr. Malt’s, and they began to work themselves up, as Mr. Malt said, into the spirit of it.  Mr. Malt was to insist that the windows should be shut, he said he had got a trifling cold, and the Senator was to require them open in the interests of ventilation.  They rehearsed their arguments, and momma putting her head out of the window at the first small station cried, “Be quick and change your expressions—­he’s coming!”

In the presence of the guard Mr. Malt rose with dignity and closed the windows.  The Senator, with a well-simulated scowl, at once opened them both.

“Stranger!” said Mr. Malt, while momma fumbled for her ticket, “I shut those windows.”

“Sir,” responded poppa, “if you had not done so I shouldn’t have been obliged to open them.”

“I can’t die of pneumonia, sir,” said Mr. Malt, again closing the window, “to oblige you.”

“Nor do I feel compelled,” returned the Senator furiously, “to asphyxiate my family to make it comfortable for you!” and the window fell with a bang.

The guard, holding out a massive hand for my ticket, took no notice whatever.

“Put it up again,” said Mrs. Malt, who was more anxious than any of us to avenge herself upon the German railway system, “and try to break the glass.”

“Attract his attention, Alexander,” said momma.  “Pull one of his silly buttons off.”

The guard gave no sign—­he was replacing the elastic round my book of coupons after detaching the green one on which was printed, “Strasburg nach Mainz.”