A VOICE.  Oh, don’t just bow.  Speak!

[A fresh burst of laughter greets this sally.  THE CALIFORNIAN erects himself again with an air of baited wrath, and then suddenly breaks into a helpless laugh.]

THE CALIFORNIAN.  Gentlemen, you’re too many for me.

[He gets into his berth, and after cries of “Good for California!” “You’re all right, William Nye!” and “You’re several ahead yet!” the occupants of the different berths gradually relapse into silence, and at last, as the car lunges onward through the darkness, nothing is heard but the rhythmical clank of the machinery, with now and then a burst of audible slumber from MRS. ROBERTS’S aunt MARY.]

II.

At Worcester, where the train has made the usual stop, THE PORTER, with his lantern on his arm, enters the car, preceding a gentleman somewhat anxiously smiling; his nervous speech contrasts painfully with the business-like impassiveness of THE PORTER, who refuses, with an air of incredulity, to enter into the confidences which the gentleman seems reluctant to bestow.

MR. EDWARD ROBERTS.  This is the Governor Marcy, isn’t it?

THE PORTER.  Yes, sah.

MR. ROBERTS.  Came on from Albany, and not from New York?

THE PORTER.  Yes, sah, it did.

MR. ROBERTS.  Ah! it must be all right.  I—­

THE PORTER.  Was your wife expecting you to come on board here?

MR. ROBERTS.  Well, no, not exactly.  She was expecting me to meet her at Boston.  But I—­[struggling to give the situation dignity, but failing, and throwing himself, with self-convicted silliness, upon THE PORTER’S mercy.] The fact is, I thought I would surprise her by joining her here.

THE PORTER (refusing to have any mercy).  Oh!  How did you expect to find her?

MR. ROBERTS.  Well—­well—­I don’t know.  I didn’t consider. [He looks down the aisle in despair at the close-drawn curtains of the berths, and up at the dangling hats and bags and bonnets, and down at the chaos of boots of both sexes on the floor.] I don’t know how I expected to find her.

[MR. ROBERTS’S countenance falls, and he visibly sinks so low in his own esteem and an imaginary public opinion that THE PORTER begins to have a little compassion.]

THE PORTER.  Dey’s so many ladies on board I couldn’t find her.

MR. ROBERTS.  Oh, no, no, of course not.  I didn’t expect that.

THE PORTER.  Don’t like to go routing ’em all up, you know.  I wouldn’t be allowed to.

MR. ROBERTS.  I don’t ask it; that would be preposterous.

THE PORTER.  What sort of looking lady was she?

MR. ROBERTS.  Well, I don’t know, really.  Not very tall, rather slight, blue eyes.  I—­I don’t know what you’d call her nose.  And—­stop!  Oh yes, she had a child with her, a little boy.  Yes!