MARY. Then you’ll do, I think. Now, then, your knee; now your back. There! And very handsomely done. Thanks.
MRS. ROBERTS. Are you really in, Aunt Mary?
AUNT MARY (dryly). Yes. Good-night.
MRS. ROBERTS. Good-night, aunty. [After a pause of some minutes.] Aunty!
AUNT MARY. Well, what?
MRS. ROBERTS. Do you think it’s perfectly safe?
[She rises in her berth, and looks up over the edge of the upper.]
AUNT MARY. I suppose so. It’s a well-managed road. They’ve got the air-brake, I’ve heard, and the Miller platform, and all those horrid things. What makes you introduce such unpleasant subjects?
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, I don’t mean accidents. But, you know, when you turn, it does creak so awfully. I shouldn’t mind myself; but the baby—
AUNT MARY. Why, child, do you think I’m going to break through? I couldn’t. I’m one of the lightest sleepers in the world.
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, I know you’re a light sleeper; but—but it doesn’t seem quite the same thing, somehow.
AUNT MARY. But it is; it’s quite the same thing, and you can be perfectly easy in your mind, my dear. I should be quite as loth to break through as you would to have me. Good-night.
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes; good-night, Aunty!
AUNT MARY. Well?
MRS. ROBERTS. You ought to just see him, how he’s lying. He’s a perfect log. Couldn’t you just bend over, and peep down at him a moment?
AUNT MARY. Bend over! It would be the death of me. Good-night.
MRS. ROBERTS. Good-night. Did you put the glass into my bag or yours? I feel so very thirsty, and I want to go and get some water. I’m sure I don’t know why I should be thirsty. Are you, Aunt Mary? Ah! here it is. Don’t disturb yourself, aunty; I’ve found it. It was in my bag, just where I’d put it myself. But all this trouble about Willis has made me so fidgety that I don’t know where anything is. And now I don’t know how to manage about the baby while I go after the water. He’s sleeping soundly enough now; but if he should happen to get into one of his rolling moods, he might tumble out on to the floor. Never mind, aunty, I’ve thought of something. I’ll just barricade him with these bags and shawls. Now, old fellow, roll as much as you like. If you should happen to hear him stir, aunty, won’t you—aunty! Oh, dear! she’s asleep already; and what shall I do? [While MRS. ROBERTS continues talking, various notes of protest, profane and otherwise, make themselves heard from different berths.] I know. I’ll make a bold dash for the water, and be back in an instant, baby. Now, don’t you move, you little rogue. [She runs to the water-tank at the end of the car, and then back to her berth.] Now, baby, here’s mamma again. Are you all right, mamma’s own?
[A shaggy head and bearded face are thrust from the curtains of the next berth.]
THE STRANGER. Look here, ma’am. I don’t want to be disagreeable about this thing, and I hope you won’t take any offence; but the fact is, I’m half dead for want of sleep, and if you’ll only keep quiet now a little while, I’ll promise not to speak above my breath if ever I find you on a sleeping-car after you’ve come straight through from San Francisco, day and night, and not been able to get more than about a quarter of your usual allowance of rest—I will indeed.
MRS. ROBERTS. I’m very sorry that I’ve disturbed you, and I’ll try to be more quiet. I didn’t suppose I was speaking so loud; but the cars keep up such a rattling that you never can tell how loud you are speaking. Did I understand you to say that you were from California?
THE CALIFORNIAN. Yes, ma’am.
MRS. ROBERTS. San Francisco?
THE CALIFORNIAN. Yes, ma’am.
MRS. ROBERTS. Thanks. It’s a terribly long journey, isn’t it? I know quite how to feel for you. I’ve a brother myself coming on. In fact we expected him before this. [She scans his face as sharply as the lamp-light will allow, and continues, after a brief hesitation.] It’s always such a silly question to ask a person, and I suppose San Francisco is a large place, with a great many people always coming and going, so that it would be only one chance in a thousand if you did.
THE CALIFORNIAN (patiently). Did what, ma’am?
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, I was just wondering if it was possible—but of course it isn’t, and it’s very flat to ask—that you’d ever happened to meet my brother there. His name is Willis Campbell.
THE CALIFORNIAN (with more interest). Campbell? Campbell? Yes, I know a man of that name. But I disremember his first name. Little low fellow—pretty chunky?
MRS. ROBERTS. I don’t know. Do you mean short and stout?
THE CALIFORNIAN. Yes, ma’am.
MRS. ROBERTS. I’m sure I can’t tell. It’s a great many years since he went out there, and I’ve never seen him in all that time. I thought if you did happen to know him—He’s a lawyer.
THE CALIFORNIAN. It’s quite likely I know him; and in the morning, ma’am—
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, excuse me. I’m very sorry to have kept you so long awake with my silly questions.
THE MAN IN THE UPPER BERTH. Don’t apologize, madam. I’m not a Californian myself, but I’m an orphan, and away from home, and I thank you, on behalf of all our fellow-passengers, for the mental refreshment that your conversation has afforded us. I could lie here and listen to it all night; but there are invalids in some of these berths, and perhaps on their account it will be as well to defer everything till the morning, as our friend suggests. Allow me to wish you pleasant dreams, madam.
[THE CALIFORNIAN, while MRS. ROBERTS shrinks back under the curtain of her berth in dismay, and stammers some inaudible excuse, slowly emerges full length from his berth.]
THE CALIFORNIAN. Don’t you mind me, ma’am; I’ve got everything but my boots and coat on. Now, then [standing beside the berth, and looking in upon the man in the upper tier], you, do you know that this is a lady you’re talking to?
THE UPPER BERTH. By your voice and your shaggy personal appearance I shouldn’t have taken you for a lady—no, sir. But the light is very imperfect; you may be a bearded lady.
THE CALIFORNIAN. You never mind about my looks. The question is, Do you want your head rapped up against the side of this car?
THE UPPER BERTH. With all the frankness of your own Pacific slope, no.
MRS. ROBERTS (hastily reappearing). Oh, no, no, don’t hurt him. He’s not to blame. I was wrong to keep on talking. Oh, please don’t hurt him!
THE CALIFORNIAN (to THE UPPER BERTH). You hear? Well, now, don’t you speak another word to that lady tonight. Just go on, ma’am, and free your mind on any little matter you like. I don’t want any sleep. How long has your brother been in California?
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, don’t let’s talk about it now; I don’t want to talk about it. I thought—I thought—Good-night. Oh, dear! I didn’t
