MRS. ROBERTS.  Why, yes, certainly; and I will try—­oh, I will try not to disturb you again.  And if there’s anything we can do in reparation after we reach Boston, we shall be so glad to do it!

[They bow themselves away, and return to their seat, while THE CALIFORNIAN re-enters his berth.]

III.

The train stops at Framingham, and THE PORTER comes in with a passenger whom he shows to the seat opposite MR. and MRS. ROBERTS.

THE PORTER.  You can sit here, sah.  We’ll be in in about an hour now.  Hang up your bag for you, sah?

THE PASSENGER.  No, leave it on the seat here.

[THE PORTER goes out, and the ROBERTSES maintain a dejected silence.  The bottom of the bag, thrown carelessly on the seat, is toward the ROBERTSES, who regard it listlessly.]

MRS. ROBERTS (suddenly clutching her husband’s arm, and hissing in his ear).  See! [She points to the white lettering on the bag, where the name “Willis Campbell, San Francisco,” is distinctly legible.] But it can’t be; it must be some other Campbell.  I can’t risk it.

MR. ROBERTS.  But there’s the name.  It would be very strange if there were two people from San Francisco of exactly the same name. I will speak.

MRS. ROBERTS (as wildly as one can in whisper).  No, no, I can’t let you.  We’ve made ourselves the laughing-stock of the whole car already with our mistakes, and I can’t go on.  I would rather perish than ask him.  You don’t suppose it could be?  No, it couldn’t.  There may be twenty Willis Campbells in San Francisco, and there probably are.  Do you think he looks like me!  He has a straight nose; but you can’t tell anything about the lower part of his face, the beard covers it so; and I can’t make out the color of his eyes by this light.  But of course it’s all nonsense.  Still if it should be!  It would be very stupid of us to ride all the way from Framingham to Boston with that name staring one in the eyes.  I wish he would turn it away.  If it really turned out to be Willis, he would think we were awfully stiff and cold.  But I can’t help it; I can’t go attacking every stranger I see, and accusing him of being my brother.  No, no, I can’t, and I won’t, and that’s all about it. [She leans forward and addresses the stranger with sudden sweetness.] Excuse me, sir, but I am very much interested by the name on your bag.  Not that I think you are even acquainted with him, and there are probably a great many of them there; but your coming from the same city and all does seem a little queer, and I hope you won’t think me intrusive in speaking to you, because if you should happen, by the thousandth of a chance, to be the right one, I should be so happy!

CAMPBELL.  The right what, madam?

MRS. ROBERTS.  The right Willis Campbell.