as huntin' for his own
tombstone, and didn't care how soon he found it.

Rufus Rastus was hangin' to one of his arms, splutterin' things about
this being a private car, and gettin' no more notice taken of himself
than as if he'd been an escape-valve. Behind 'em, totin' a lot of
leather bags of all shapes, was a peaked-nosed chap, who looked like he
was doin' all the frettin' for a Don't Worry Club.

"It's honly Sir Peter," says the worried chap. "'E's myde a mistyke, y'
know. Hi'll get 'im out, sir."

"Danvers, shut up!" says Sir Peter.

"Yes, sir; directly, sir; but--" says he.

"Shut up now and sit down!" Sir Peter wasn't scrappy about it. He just
said it as though he was tired. But Danvers wilted.

"Shall I give 'em the run?" says I.

"No," says Mr. Gordon; "there's the bell. We can get rid of them at the
first stop."

Then he goes over to Sir Peter, tells him all about the Adeline's bein'
a private snap, and how he can change to a parlor-car at Trenton.

The old fellow seems to take it all in, lookin' him straight in the eye,
without turnin' a hair, and then he says, just as if they'd been talkin'
about it for a month: "You'd better wear a bucket, as I do. It looks a
little odd, you know; but the decimals can't get through a bucket.
Danvers!" he sings out.

"But you don't understand," says Pyramid. "I said this was a private
car--private car!"

"Don't shout," says Sir Peter. "I'm not deaf. I'd lend you a bucket if I
had an extra one; but I haven't. Danvers!"

This time Danvers edged in with one of those sole-leather cases that an
Englishman carries his plug-hat in.

[Illustration: "Got his wheels all under cover," says I.]

"Don't you think, Sir Peter--" says he.

"Yes; but you don't," says Sir Peter. "Hurry on, now!"

And I'll be welched if Danvers didn't dig a wooden pail out of that
hat-case and hand it over. Sir Peter chucks the cap, puts on the pail,
drops the handle under his chin, and stretches out on a corner sofa as
peaceful as a bench-duster in the park.

"Looks like he's got his wheels all under cover," says I. "Great
scheme--every man his own garage."

"Who is he?" says Mr. Gordon to Danvers.

"Lord, sir, you don't mean to sye you don't know Sir Peter, sir?" says
Danvers. "Why, 'e's Sir Peter--_the_ Sir Peter. 'E's a bit heccentric at
times, sir."

Well, we let it go at that. Sir Peter seemed to be enjoying himself; so
we piles all the wicker chairs around him, opens the ventila