have," he observed.
"Same old snorer of an engine, though."

"You seem to know the line."

"It's not the first time I've ridden by it; nor yet the first time
I've crossed the herring-pond."

"Are you making any stay in this country?"

"I am, sir."

He lapsed into meditation evidently not unpleasing; then he
continued: "When you've got a mother and two sisters that you
haven't seen for over fifteen years, naturally you're not in such a
particular durned hurry to get away."

"Your home is in America, I presume?"

"My home is in England. I've made my pile out there, sir, and I've
come to stay. Like to see the _Chicago Advertiser_? It may amuse
you."

The clergyman accepted the paper gratefully. It did amuse him. So
much so that he read aloud several paragraphs, among others the one
beginning "Stephen K. Lepper, Pork-packing Prince."

It was a second or two before the horror of the situation dawned on
him. That dawn must have been reflected on his face, for his
fellow-passenger began to snigger.

"Ah," said he, "you've tumbled to it. Sorry you spoke? Don't
apologize for smiling, sir. I can smile, myself, now; but the first
time I saw that paragraph it turned me pretty faint and green.
That's the way they do things out there. Of course," he added, "I
_had_ to be put in; but I'm no more like a prince than I'm like a
pork-packer."

What was he like? With the flush on his cheeks the laughter in his
eyes he might have been an enormous schoolboy home for the
holidays, and genially impudent on the strength of it.

"Fact is," he went on, "you didn't expect to find such a high
personage in a third-class compartment. That put you off."

"Yes, I suppose it was that." It did seem absurd that a pork-packing
prince, who could probably have bought up the entire rolling stock
of the London and North-western, should be traveling third.

"You see, I never used to go anything but third on this old line or
any other. I'm only doing it now to make sure I'm coming home. I
_know_ I'm coming home, but I want the feel of it."

He folded the _Chicago Advertiser_ and packed it carefully in his
portmanteau. "I'm keeping this to show my people," he explained.
"It's the sort of thing that used to make my young sister grin."

"You have--er--a young sister?"

"I had two--fifteen years ago."

The clergyman again looked sorry he had spoken.

"All right--this time. They're not dead. Only one of them isn't
quite so young as she use