to the motion of the train. Then we came to a station, and he got up and went out, muttering: "I must find a lower berth, or wait over." His servant came presently and carried away his things.
Mr. Smythe's sore place was healed, his hunger for revenge
was satisfied. But he couldn't sleep, and neither could I; for
this was a venerable old car, and nothing about it was taut.
The closet door slammed all night, and defied every fastening
we could in vent. We got up very much jaded, at dawn, and
stepped out at a way station; and, while we were taking a cup
of coffee, that Englishman ranged up alongside, and somebody
said to him:
_(page_458_crop).jpg)
smythe's revenge.
"So you didn't stop off, after all?"
"No. The guard found a place for me that had been engaged and not occupied. I had a whole saloon car all to myself–oh, quite palatial! I never had such luck in my life."
