tting on a bench, waiting. The two old ladies got off and a
boy in blue jeans got on. The train started up. Brett folded his jacket
and tucked it under his head and tried to doze off....

* * * * *

Brett awoke, yawned, sat up. The train was slowing. He remembered you
couldn't use the toilets while the train was stopped. He got up and went
to the end of the car. The door was jammed. He got it open and went
inside and closed the door behind him. The train was going slower,
clack-clack ... clack-clack ... clack; clack ... cuh-lack ...

He washed his hands, then pulled at the door. It was stuck. He pulled
harder. The handle was too small; it was hard to get hold of. The train
came to a halt. Brett braced himself and strained against the door. It
didn't budge.

He looked out the grimy window. The sun was getting lower. It was about
three-thirty, he guessed. He couldn't see anything but some dry-looking
fields.

Outside in the corridor there were footsteps. He started to call, but
then didn't. It would be too embarrassing, pounding on the door and
yelling, "Let me out! I'm stuck in the toilet ..."

He tried to rattle the door. It didn't rattle. Somebody was dragging
something heavy past the door. Mail bags, maybe. He'd better yell. But
dammit, the door couldn't be all that hard to open. He studied the
latch. All he had to do was turn it. He got a good grip and twisted.
Nothing.

He heard the mail bag bump-bump, and then another one. To heck with it;
he'd yell. He'd wait until he heard the footsteps pass the door again
and then he'd make some noise.

Brett waited. It was quiet now. He rapped on the door anyway. No answer.
Maybe there was nobody left in the car. In a minute the train would
start up and he'd be stuck here until the next stop. He banged on the
door. "Hey! The door is stuck!"

It sounded foolish. He listened. It was very quiet. He pounded again.
The car creaked once. He put his ear to the door. He couldn't hear
anything. He turned back to the window. There was no one in sight. He
put his cheek flat against it, looked along the car. He saw only dry
fields.

He turned around and gave the door a good kick. If he damaged it, it was
too bad; the railroad shouldn't have defective locks on the doors. If
they tried to make him pay for it, he'd tell them they were lucky he
didn't sue the railroad ...

* * *

He braced himself against the opposite wall, drew