Part 43 (1/2)

And now Mrs. Anne Lathrop, after much hesitation, called timidly: ”Porter--porter--please!”

”Yes--miss--missus!” he amended.

”Will you call my--” she gulped--”my husband?”

”Yes, ma'am,” the porter chuckled, and putting his grinning head in at the men's door, he bowed to Ira and said: ”Excuse me, but you are sent for by the lady in number One.”

Ashton slapped him on the back and roared: ”Oh, you married man!”

”Well,” said Ira, in self-defence, ”I don't hear anybody sending for you.” Wedgewood grinned at Ashton. ”I rather fancy he had you theah, old top, eh, what?”

Ira appeared at number One, and bending over his treasure-trove, spoke in a voice that was pure saccharine: ”Are you ready for breakfast, dear?”

”Yes, Ira.”

”Come along to the dining-car.”

”It's cosier here,” she said. ”Couldn't we have it served here?”

”But it'll get all cold, and I'm hungry,” pouted the old bachelor, to whom breakfast was a sacred inst.i.tution.

”All right, Ira,” said Anne, glad to be meek; ”come along,” and she rose.

Ira hesitated. ”Still, if you'd rather, we'll eat here.” He sat down.

”Oh, not at all,” said Anne; ”we'll go where you want to go.”

”But I want to do what you want to do.”

”So do I--we'll go,” said Anne.

”We'll stay.”

”No, I insist on the dining-car.”

”Oh, all right, have your own way,” said Ira, as if he were being bullied, and liked it. Anne smiled at the contrariness of men, and Ira smiled at the contrariness of women, and when they reached the vestibule they kissed each other in mutual forgiveness.

As Wedgewood stropped an old-fas.h.i.+oned razor, he said to Ashton, who was putting up his safety equipment: ”I say, old party, are those safety razors safe? Can't you really cut yourself?”

”Cut everything but hair,” said Ashton, pointing to his wounded chin.

Mallory put out his hand: ”Would you be kind enough to lend me your razor again this morning?”

”Sure thing,” said Ashton. ”You'll find your blade in the box there.”

Mallory then negotiated the loan of one more fresh s.h.i.+rt from the Englishman, and a clean collar from Ashton. He rejoiced that the end of the day would bring him in touch with his own baggage. Four days of foraging on the country was enough for this soldier.

Also he felt, now that he and Marjorie had lived thus long, they could survive somehow till evening brought them to San Francisco, where there were hundreds of ministers. And then the conductor must ruin his early morning optimism, though he made his appearance in the washroom with genial good mornings for all.