m and see the scenery."

"But, my dear madam, let me explain----"

"There is nothing to explain; it was an explicit promise, and we insist
on its fulfilment."

"Just one word," Brockway pleaded. "The car behind us is our General
Manager's private car, lent to President Vennor, of the Colorado and
Utah. If we should put it ahead of this, Mr. Vennor's party would be
continually disturbed by the passengers and train-men going back and
forth. Don't you see----"

The fourth member of the deputation put in his word at this.

"How long has it been since the railway companies began to put the
convenience of their guests before the rights of their patrons, Mr.
Brockway? Answer me that, if you please."

"I should like to know!" declared one of the ladies. "_We_ have paid for
our accommodations."

The courteous one summed up the matter in set phrase.

"It's no use, Mr. Brockway, as you see. If you don't carry out your part
of the agreement, I'm afraid we shall have to telegraph to your
superiors."

For a moment Brockway was tempted to answer four fools according to
their folly. Then he bethought him that he had but now been seeking a
pretext which would open the door of the private car. Here was a
makeshift; a poor one, to be sure, but better than none. Wherefore,
instead of quarrelling with the deputation, he rose with placatory
phrases in his mouth.

"Very well; I'll see what can be done. But you must give me a little
time; the scenery--" pointing to the monotonous landscape circling
slowly with the onward sweep of the train--"is not exactly of the
rear-platform variety yet."

After which he retreated to the rear vestibule of the Tadmor and stood
looking out through the glass panel in the door at the hamper-laden
front platform of the Naught-fifty, trying to muster courage to take the
chilling plunge. For he knew that the year agone episode was not
altogether pleasing to the father of Miss Gertrude Vennor.

III

THE PRIVATE CAR

"Yes, sah; mighty sorry, sah; but we cayn't cook you-all's dinner,
no-how, sah. Wateh-pipe's done bu'sted in de range."

President Vennor turned and regarded the big-bodied cook of the
Naught-fifty with the eye-sweep of appraisal which Mrs. Burton had found
so annoying.

"No dinner, you say? That's bad. Why did you burst the pipe?"

"I--I didn't bu'sted it, sah; hit des bu'sted hitse'f--'deed it did,
sah!"

"Well, can't you serve us a cold lunch?"

"Might do dat--yes, s