pane. It
is the custom of the trainmen, who tiptoe softly through the cars,
never to disturb their clients by calling out the names of stations.
When New Brunswick is reached many think that they have arrived at West
Philadelphia, or (worse still) have been carried on to Wilmington. They
rush desperately to the bracing chill of the platform to learn where
they are. There is a mood of mystery about this Owl of ours. The
trainmen take a quaint delight in keeping the actual whereabouts of the
caravan a merciful secret.

Oddly assorted people appear on this train. Occasional haughty
revellers, in evening dress and opera capes, appear among the humbler
voyagers. For a time they stay on their dignity: sit bravely upright and
talk with apparent intelligence. Then the drowsy poison of that stifled
atmosphere overcomes them, too, and they fall into the weakness of their
brethren. They turn over the opposing seat, elevate their nobler shins,
and droop languid heads over the ticklish plush chair-back. Strange
aliens lie spread over the seats. Nowhere will you see so many faces of
curious foreign carving. It seems as though many desperate exiles, who
never travel by day, use the Owl for moving obscurely from city to city.
This particular train is bound south to Washington, and at least half
its tenants are citizens of colour. Even the endless gayety of our dusky
brother is not proof against the venomous exhaustion of that boxed-in
suffocation. The ladies of his race are comfortably prepared for the
hardships of the route. They wrap themselves in huge fur coats and all
have sofa cushions to recline on. Even in an all-night session of
Congress you will hardly note so complete an abandonment of disillusion,
weariness, and cynical despair as is written upon the blank faces all
down the aisle. Even the will-power of a George Creel or a Will H. Hays
would droop before this three-hour ordeal. Professor Einstein, who talks
so delightfully of discarding Time and Space, might here reconsider his
theories if he brooded, baking gradually upward, on the hot green plush.

This genial Owl is not supposed to stop at North Philadelphia, but it
always does. By this time Philadelphia passengers are awake and gathered
in the cold vestibules, panting for escape. Some of them, against the
rules of the train, manage to escape on the North Philadelphia platform.
The rest, standing huddled over the swaying couplings, find the
leisurely transit to West Ph