RUPERT HUGHfcS
 
 ** 
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 CIRCUIATING LIBRARY 
 325 Southwestern Avenue, Los Angeles, California 
 
 Rental for this Book is ^ Cents per day for 
 
 one tyeek. After one weei: the charge is . Cents 
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 EXCUSE ME!
 
 - 
 

 
 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 By RUPERT HUGHES 
 
 Author of "The Old Nest" 
 
 WITH FIVE JtLun RATIONS 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK.
 
 Copyright, 1911, by 
 THE H. K. FLY COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Wreck of the Taxicab 9 
 
 II. The Early Birds and the Worm. . 16 
 
 III. In Darkest Chicago 26 
 
 IV. A Mouse and a Mountain 35 
 
 V. A Queen Among Women 47 
 
 VI. A Conspiracy in Satin 53 
 
 VII. The Masked Minister 60 
 
 VIII. A Mixed Pickle 65 
 
 IX. All Aboard! 75 
 
 X. Excess Baggage 84 
 
 XI. A Chance Rencounter 88 
 
 XII. The Needle in the Haystack 92 
 
 XIII. Hostilities Begin 99 
 
 XIV. The Dormitory on Wheels 103 
 
 XV. A Premature Divorce 106 
 
 XVI. Good Night, All ! 115 
 
 XVII. Last Call for Breakfast 122 
 
 XVIII. In the Composite Car 128 
 
 XIX. Foiled! 139 
 
 XX. Foiled Again ! 142 
 
 XXI. Matrimony To and Fro 147 
 
 XXII. In the Smoking Room 156 
 
 222S376
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXIII. Through a Tunnel 164 
 
 XXIV. The Train Butcher 1 73 
 
 XXV. The Train Wrecker 1 80 
 
 XXVI. Delilah and the Conductor 186 
 
 XXVII. The Dog-on Dog Again 191 
 
 XXVIII. The Woman-Hater's Relapse 203 
 
 XXIX. Jealousy Comes Aboard 213 
 
 XXX. A Wedding on Wheels 222 
 
 XXXI. Foiled Yet Again 227 
 
 XXXII. The Empty Berth 233 
 
 XXXIII. Fresh Trouble Daily 237 
 
 XXXIV. The Complete Divorcer 252 
 
 XXXV. Mr. and Mrs. Little Jimmie 266 
 
 XXXVI. A Duel for a Bracelet 273 
 
 XXXVII. Down Brakes! 278 
 
 XXXVIII. Hands Upl 284 
 
 XXXIX. Wolves in the Fold 296 
 
 XL. A Hero in Spite of Himself 304 
 
 XLI. Clickety-Clickety-Clickety 308
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 No tips were to be expected from such 
 
 transients Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Now it's my vacation, and I'm going to smoke 
 
 up" 62 
 
 Marjorie fairly forced the dog on him 94 
 
 Down upon the unsuspecting elopers came this 
 
 miraculous cloudburst of ironical rice. ... 1 18 
 
 "Why, Richard Chauncey ! er Billy! Fm 
 
 amazed at you! Let go, or I'll scream!" 276
 
 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE TAXICAB 
 
 THE young woman in the taxicab scuttling fran- 
 tically down the dark street, clung to the arm of the 
 young man alongside, as if she were terrified at the 
 lawbreaking, neck-risking speed. But evidently 
 some greater fear goaded her, for she gasped: 
 
 "Can't he go a little faster?" 
 
 "Can't you go a little faster?" The young man 
 alongside howled as he thrust his head and shoul- 
 ders through the window in the door. 
 
 But the self-created taxi-gale swept his voice aft, 
 and the taut chauffeur perked his ear in vain to catch 
 the vanishing syllables. 
 
 "What's that?" he roared. 
 
 "Can't you go a little faster?" 
 
 The indignant charioteer simply had to shoot one 
 barbed glare of reproach into that passenger. He 
 turned his head and growled : 
 
 "Say, do youse want to lose me me license?" 
 
 9
 
 10 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 For just one instant he turned his head. One in- 
 stant was just enough. The unguarded taxicab seized 
 the opportunity, -bolted from the track, and flung, 
 as it were, its arms drunkenly around a perfectly 
 respectable lamppost attending strictly to its business 
 on the curb. There ensued a condensed Fourth of 
 July. Sparks flew, tires exploded, metals ripped, two 
 wheels spun in air and one wheel, neatly severed at 
 the axle, went reeling down the sidewalk half a block 
 before it leaned against a tree and rested. 
 
 A dozen or more miracles coincided to save the 
 passengers from injury. The young man found him- 
 self standing on the pavement with the unhinged 
 door still around his neck. The young woman's 
 arms were round his neck. Her head was on his 
 shoulder. It had reposed there often enough, but 
 never before in the street under a lamppost. The 
 chauffeur found himself in the road, walking about 
 on all fours, like a bewildered quadruped. 
 
 Evidently some overpowering need for speed pos- 
 sessed the young woman, for even now she did not 
 scream, she did not faint, she did not murmur, 
 "Where am I?" She simply said: 
 
 "What time is it, honey?" 
 
 And the young man, not realizing how befuddled 
 he really was, or how his hand trembled, fetched 
 out his watch and held it under the glow of the 
 lamppost, which was now bent over in a convenient 
 but disreputable attitude.
 
 THE WRECK OF THE TAXICAB 11 
 
 "A quarter to ten, sweetheart. Plenty of time 
 for the train." 
 
 "But the minister, honey! What about the min- 
 ister? How are we going to get to the minister?" 
 
 The consideration of this riddle was interrupted 
 by a muffled hubbub of yelps, whimpers, and canine 
 hysterics. Immediately the young woman forgot 
 ministers, collisions, train-schedules everything. 
 She showed her first sign of panic. 
 
 "Snoozleums! Get Snoozleums!" 
 
 They groped about in the topsy-turvy taxicab, rum- 
 maged among a jumble of suitcases, handbags, um- 
 brellas and minor impedimenta, and fished out a 
 small dog-basket with an inverted dog inside. 
 Snoozleums was ridiculous in any position^ but as 
 he slid tail foremost from the wicker basket, he 
 resembled nothing so much as a heap of tangled yarn 
 tumbling out of a work-basket. He was an indignant 
 skein, and had much to say before he consented to 
 snuggle under his mistress' chin. 
 
 About this time the chauffeur came prowling into 
 view. He was too deeply shocked to emit any lan- 
 guage of the garage. He was too deeply shocked to 
 achieve any comment more brilliant than: 
 
 "That mess don't look much like it ever was a 
 taxicab, does it?" 
 
 The young man shrugged his shoulders, and stared 
 up and down the long street for another. The young
 
 12 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 woman looked sorrowfully at the wreck, and 
 queried : 
 
 "Do you think you can make it go?" 
 The chauffeur glanced her way, more in pity for 
 her whole sex than in scorn for this one type, as he 
 mumbled: 
 
 "Make it go? It'll take a steam winch a week to 
 unwrap it from that lamppost." 
 The young man apologized. 
 "I oughtn't to have yelled at you." 
 He was evidently a very nice young man. Not to 
 be outdone in courtesy, the chauffeur retorted : 
 "I hadn't ought to have turned me head." 
 The young woman thought, "What a nice chauf- 
 feur !" but she gasped : "Great heavens, you're hurt !" 
 "It's nuttin' but a scratch on me t'umb." 
 "Lend me a clean handkerchief, Harry." 
 The young man whipped out his reserve supply, 
 and in a trice it was a bandage on the chauffeur's 
 hand. The chauffeur decided that the young woman 
 was even nicer than the young man. But he could not 
 settle on a way to say to it. So he said nothing, and 
 grinned sheepishly as he said it. 
 
 The young man named Harry was wondering how 
 they were to proceed. He had already studied the 
 region with dismay, when the girl resolved: 
 "We'll have to take another taxi, Harry." 
 "Yes, Marjorie, but we can't take it till we get 
 it."
 
 THE WRECK OF THE TAXICAB 13 
 
 "You might wait here all night wit'out ketchin' 
 a glimp' of one," the chauffeur ventured. "I come 
 this way because you wanted me to take a short 
 cut." 
 
 "It's the longest short cut I ever saw," the young 
 man sighed, as he gazed this way and that. 
 
 The place of their shipwreck was so deserted that 
 not even a crowd had gathered. The racket of the 
 collision had not brought a single policeman. They 
 were in a dead world of granite warehouses, whole- 
 sale stores and factories, all locked and forbidding, 
 and full of silent gloom. 
 
 In the daytime this was a big trade-artery of Chi- 
 cago, and all day long it was thunderous with trucks 
 and commerce. At night it was Pompeii, so utterly 
 abandoned that the night watchmen rarely slept out' 
 side, and no footpad found it worth while to set up 
 shop. 
 
 The three castaways stared every which way, and 
 every which way was peace. The ghost of a pedes- 
 trian or two hurried by in the far distance. A cat or 
 two went furtively in search of warfare or romance. 
 The lampposts stretched on and on in both direc- 
 tions in two forevers. 
 
 In the faraway there was a muffled rumble and 
 the faint clang of a bell. Somewhere a street car 
 was bumping along its rails. 
 
 "Our only hope," said Harry. "Come along, 
 Marjorie."
 
 K EXCUSE ME! 
 
 He handed the chauffeur five dollars as a poultice 
 to his wounds, tucked the girl under one arm and 
 the dog-basket under the other, and set out, calling 
 back to the chauffeur: 
 
 "Goodnight!" 
 
 "Good night!" the girl called back. 
 
 "Good night!" the chauffeur echoed. He stood 
 watching them with the tender gaze that even a 
 chauffeur may feel for young love hastening to a 
 honeymoon. 
 
 He stood beaming so, till their footsteps died in 
 the silence. Then he turned back to the chaotic rem- 
 nants of his machine. He worked at it hopelessly 
 for some time, before he had reason to look within. 
 There he found the handbags and suitcases, umbrel- 
 las and other equip nent. He ran to the corner to 
 call after the owners. They were as absent of body 
 as they had been absent of mind. 
 
 He remembered the street-number they had given 
 him as their destination. He waited till at last a 
 yawning policeman sauntered that way like a lonely 
 beach patrol, and left him in charge while he went 
 to telephone his garage for a wagon and a wrecking 
 crew. 
 
 It was close on midnight before he reached the 
 number his fares had given him. It was a parson- 
 age leaning against a church. He rang the bell and 
 finally produced from an upper window a nightshirt 
 topped by a frowsy head. He explained the situa-
 
 THE WRECK OF THE TAXICAB 15 
 
 tion, and his possession of certain properties belong- 
 ing to parties unknown except by their first names. 
 The clergyman drowsily murmured: 
 
 "Oh, yes. I remember. The young man was 
 Lieutenant Henry Mallory, and he said he would 
 stop here with a young lady, and get married on the 
 way to the train. But they never turned up." 
 
 "Lieutenant Mallory, eh? Where could I reach 
 him?" 
 
 "He said he was leaving to-night for the Philip- 
 pines." 
 
 "The Philippines! Well, I'll be " 
 
 The minister closed the window just in time. 
 
 ft
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE EARLY BIRDS AND THE WORM 
 
 IN the enormous barn of the railroad station stood 
 many strings of cars, as if a gigantic young Gulliver 
 stabled his toys there and invisibly amused himself; 
 now whisking this one away, now backing that other 
 in. 
 
 Some of the trains were noble equipages, fitted to 
 glide across the whole map with cargoes of Lilli- 
 putian millionaires and their Lilliputian ladies. Oth- 
 ers were humble and shabby linked-up day-coaches 
 and dingy smoking-cars, packed with workers, like 
 ants. 
 
 Cars are mere vehicles, but locomotives have souls. 
 The express engines roll in or stalk out with gran- 
 deur and ease. They are like emperors. They seem 
 to look with scorn at the suburban engines snorting 
 and grunting and shaking the arched roof with their 
 plebeian choo-choo as they puff from shop to cottage 
 and back. 
 
 The trainmen take their cue from the behavior of 
 their locomotives. The conductor of a transconti- 
 
 16
 
 THE EAELY BIRDS AND THE WORM 17 
 
 nental nods to the conductor of a shuttle-train with 
 less cordiality than to a brakeman of his own. The 
 engineers of the limiteds look like senators in over- 
 alls. They are far-traveled men, leading a mighty 
 life of adventure. They are pilots of land-ships 
 across land-oceans. They have a right to a certain 
 condescension of manner. 
 
 But no one feels or shows so much arrogance as 
 the sleeping car porters. They cannot pronounce 
 "supercilious," but they can be it Their disdain 
 for the entire crew of any train that carries merely 
 day-coaches or half-baked chair-cars, is expressed as 
 only a darkey in a uniform can express disdain for 
 poor white trash. 
 
 Of all the haughty porters that ever curled a lip, 
 the haughtiest by far was the dusky attendant in the 
 San Francisco sleeper on the Trans-American Lim- 
 ited. His was the train of trains in that whole sys- 
 tem. His car the car of cars. His passengers the 
 surpassengers of all. 
 
 His train stood now waiting to set forth upon a 
 voyage of two thousand miles, a journey across seven 
 imperial States, a journey that should end only at 
 that marge where the continent dips and vanishes 
 under the breakers of the Pacific Ocean. 
 
 At the head of his car, with his little box-step wait- 
 ing for the foot of the first arrival, the porter stood, 
 his head swelling under his cap, his breast swelling 
 beneath his blue blouse, with its brass buttons like
 
 18 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 reflections of his own eyes. His name was Ells- 
 worth Jefferson, but he was called anything from 
 "Poarr-turr" to "Pawtah," and he usually did not 
 come when he was called. 
 
 To-night he was wondering perhaps what passen- 
 gers, with what dispositions, would fall to his lot. 
 Perhaps he was wondering what his Chicago sweet- 
 heart would be doing in the eight days before his 
 return. Perhaps he was wondering what his San 
 Francisco sweetheart had been doing in the five days 
 since he left her, and how she would pass the three 
 days that must intervene before he reached her 
 again. 
 
 He had Othello's ebon color. Did he have Othel- 
 lo's green eye? 
 
 Whatever his thoughts, he chatted gaily enough 
 with his neighbor and colleague of the Portland 
 sleeper. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped in the midst of a soaring 
 chuckle. 
 
 "Lordy, man, looky what's a-cominM" 
 
 The Portland porter turned to gaze. 
 
 "I got my fingers crossed." 
 
 "I hope you git him." 
 
 "I hope I don't." 
 
 "He'll work you hard and cuss you out, and he 
 won't give you even a Much Obliged." 
 
 "That's right. He ain't got a usher to carry his 
 things. And he's got enough to fill a van."
 
 THE EARLY BIRDS AND THE WORM 19 
 
 The oncomer was plainly of English origin. It 
 takes all sorts of people to make up the British 
 Empire, and there is no sort lacking glorious or 
 pretty, or sour or sweet. But this was the type of 
 English globe-trotter that makes himself as unpopu- 
 lar among foreigners as he is among his own peo- 
 ple. He is almost as unendurable as the Americans 
 abroad who twang their banjo brag through Europe, 
 and berate France and Italy for their innocence of 
 buckwheat cakes. 
 
 The two porters regarded Mr. Harold Wedge- 
 wood with dread, as he bore down on them. He 
 was almost lost in the plethora of his own luggage. 
 He asked for the San Francisco sleeper, and the 
 Portland porter had to turn away to smother his 
 gurgling relief. 
 
 Ellsworth Jefferson's heart sank. He made a 
 feeble effort at self-protection. The Pullman con- 
 ductor not being present at the moment, he inquired : 
 
 "Have you got yo' ticket?" 
 
 "Of cawse." 
 
 "Could I see it?" 
 
 "Of cawse not. Too much trouble to fish it out." 
 
 The porter was fading. "Do you remember yo' 
 numba ?" 
 
 "Of cawse. Take these-" He began to pile 
 things on the porter like a mountain unloading an 
 avalanche. The porter stumbled as he clambered up 
 the steps, and squeezed through the strait path of
 
 20 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 the corridor into the slender aisle. He turned again 
 and again to question the invader, but he was mo- 
 tioned and bunted down the car, till he was halted 
 with a "This will do." 
 
 The Englishman selected section three for his 
 own. The porter ventured : "Are you sho' this is yo' 
 numba ?" 
 
 "Of cawse I'm shaw. How dare you question 
 my " 
 
 "I wasn't questionin' you, boss, I was just astin' 
 you." 
 
 He resigned himself to the despot, and began to 
 transfer his burdens to the seat. But he did nothing 
 to the satisfaction of the Englishman. Everything 
 must be placed otherwise ; the catch-all here, the port- 
 manteau there, the Gladstone there, the golfsticks 
 there, the greatcoat there, the raincoat there. The 
 porter was puffing like a donkey-engine, and mutiny 
 was growing in his heart. His last commission was 
 the hanging up of the bowler hat. 
 
 He stood on the arm of the seat to reach the high 
 hook. From here he paused to glare down with 
 an attempt at irony. 
 
 "Is they anything else?" 
 
 "No. You may get down." 
 
 The magnificent patronage of this wilted the por- 
 ter completely. He returned to the lower level, and 
 shuffled along the aisle in a trance. He was quickly 
 recalled by a sharp :
 
 THE EARLY BIRDS AND THE WORM 21 
 
 "Pawtah!" 
 
 "Yassah!" 
 
 "What time does this bally train start?" 
 
 "Ten-thutty, sah." 
 
 "But it's only ten now." 
 
 "Yassah. It'll be ten-thutty a little later." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that I've got to sit hyah 
 for half an hour just waitin'?" 
 
 The porter essayed another bit of irony: 
 
 "Well," he drawled, "I might tell the conducta 
 you're ready. And mebbe he'd start the train. But 
 the time-table says ten-thutty." 
 
 He watched the effect of his satire, but it fell back 
 unheeded from the granite dome of the Englishman, 
 whose only comment was : 
 
 "Oh, never mind. I'll wait." 
 
 The porter cast his eyes up in despair, and turned 
 away, once more to be recalled. 
 
 "Oh, pawtah!" 
 
 "Yassah!" 
 
 "I think we'll put on my slippahs." 
 
 "Will we?" 
 
 "You might hand me that large bag. No, stu- 
 pid, the othah one. You might open it. No, its 
 in the othah one. Ah, that's it. You may set it 
 down." 
 
 Mr. Wedgewood brought forth a soft cap and a 
 pair of red slippers. The porter made another effort
 
 22 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 to escape, his thoughts as black as his face. Again 
 the relentless recall: 
 
 "Oh, pawtah, I think we'll unbutton my boots." 
 
 He was too weak to murmur "Yassah." He sim- 
 ply fell on one knee and got to work. 
 
 There was a witness to his helpless rage a new- 
 comer, the American counterpart of the Englishman 
 in all that makes travel difficult for the fellow trav- 
 elers. Ira Lathrop was zealous to resent anything 
 short of perfection, quick and loud of complaint, ap- 
 parently impossible to please. 
 
 In everything else he was the opposite of the Eng- 
 lishman. He was burly, middle-aged, rough, care- 
 less in attire, careless of speech as uncouth and 
 savage as one can well be who is plainly a man of 
 means. 
 
 It was not enough that a freeborn Afro-American 
 should be caught kneeling to an Englishman. But 
 when he had escaped this penance, and advanced 
 hospitably to the newcomer, he must be greeted with 
 a snarl. 
 
 "Say, are you the porter of this car, or that 
 man's nurse?" 
 
 "I can't tell yet. What's yo' numba, please?" 
 
 The answer was the ticket. The porter screwed 
 up his eyes to read the pencilled scrawl. 
 
 "Numba se'm. Heah she is, boss." 
 
 "Right next to a lot of women, I'll bet. Couldn't 
 you put me in the men's end of the car?"
 
 THE EARLY BIRDS AND THE WORM 23 
 
 "Not ve'y well, suh. I reckon the cah is done 
 sold out." 
 
 With a growl of rage, Ira Lathrop slammed into 
 the seat his entire hand baggage, one ancient and 
 rusty valise. 
 
 The porter gazed upon him with increased depres- 
 sion. The passenger list had opened inauspiciously 
 with two of the worst types of travelers the Anglo- 
 Saxon race has developed. 
 
 But their anger was not their worst trait in the 
 porter's eyes. He was, in a limited way, an expert 
 in human character. 
 
 When you meet a stranger you reveal your own 
 character in what you ask about his. With some, the 
 first question is, "Who are his people?" With oth- 
 ers, "What has he achieved?" With others, "How 
 much is he worth?" Each gauges his cordiality ac- 
 cording to his estimate. 
 
 The porter was not curious on any of these points. 
 He showed a democratic indifference to them. His 
 one vital inquiry was : 
 
 "How much will he tip?" 
 
 His inspection of his first two charges promised 
 small returns. He buttoned up his cordiality, and 
 determined to waste upon them the irreducible mini- 
 mum of attention. 
 
 It would take at least a bridal couple to restore 
 the balance. But bridal couples in their first bloom 
 rarely fell to the lot of that porter, for what bridal
 
 24 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 couple wants to lock itself in with a crowd of pas- 
 sengers for the first seventy-two hours of wedded 
 bliss? 
 
 The porter banished the hope as a vanity. Lit- 
 tle he knew how eagerly the young castaways from 
 that wrecked taxicab desired to be a bridal couple, 
 and to catch this train. 
 
 But the Englishman was restive again: 
 
 " Pa wtah ! I say, pa wtah ! " 
 
 "Yassahl" 
 
 "What time are we due in San Francisco?" 
 
 "San Francisco? San Francisco? We are doo 
 thah the evenin' of the fo'th day. This bein' Mon- 
 day, that ought to bring us in abote Thuzzday 
 evenin'." 
 
 The Yankee felt called upon to check the foreign 
 usurper. 
 
 "Porrterr!" 
 
 "Yassah!" 
 
 "Don't let that fellow monopolize you. He prob- 
 ably won't tip you at all." 
 
 The porter grew confidential: 
 
 "Oh, I know his kind, sah. They don't tip you for 
 what you do do, but they're ready letter writers to 
 the Sooperintendent for what you don't do." 
 
 "Pawtah! I say, pawtah!" 
 
 "Here, porrterr." 
 
 The porter tried to imitate the Irish bird, and be 
 in two places at once. The American had a coin in
 
 THE EARLY BIRDS AND THE WORM 25 
 
 his hand. The porter caught the gleam of it, and 
 flitted thither. The Yankee growled: 
 
 "Don't forget that I'm on the train, and when we 
 get to 'Frisco there may be something more." 
 
 The porter had the coin in his hand. Its heft was 
 light. He sighed: "I hope so." 
 
 The Englishman was craning his head around owl- 
 ishly to ask: 
 
 "I say, pawtah, does this train ever get wrecked?" 
 
 "Well, it hasn't yet," and he murmured to the 
 Yankee, "but I has hopes." 
 
 The Englishman's voice was querulous again. 
 
 "I say, pawtah, open a window, will you? The 
 air is ghastly, abso-ripping-lutely ghastly." 
 
 The Yankee growled: 
 
 "No wonder we had the Revolutionary War!" 
 
 Then he took from his pocket an envelope ad- 
 dressed to Ira Lathrop & Co., and from the enve- 
 lope he took a contract, and studied it grimly. The 
 envelope bore a Chinese stamp. 
 
 The porter, as he struggled with an obstinate win- 
 dow, wondered what sort of passenger fate would 
 send him next.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IN DARKEST CHICAGO 
 
 THE castaways from the wrecked taxicab hur- 
 ried along the doleful street. Both of them knew 
 their Chicago, but this part of it was not their 
 Chicago. 
 
 They hailed a pedestrian, to ask where the near- 
 est street car line might be, and whither it might run. 
 He answered indistinctly from a discreet distance, as 
 he hastened away. Perhaps he thought their ques- 
 tion merely a footpad's introduction to a sandbag- 
 ging episode. In Chicago at night one never knows. 
 
 "As near as I can make out what he said, Mar- 
 jorie," the lieutenant pondered aloud, "w x e walk 
 straight ahead till we come to Umtyump Street, and 
 there we find a Rarara car that will take us to Blop- 
 tyblop Avenue. I never heard of any such streets, 
 did you?" 
 
 "Never," she panted, as she jog-trotted alongside 
 his military pace. "Let's take the first car we meet, 
 and perhaps the conductor can put us off at the street 
 where the minister lives." 
 
 "Perhaps." There was not much confidence in 
 that "perhaps." 
 
 26
 
 IN DARKEST CHICAGO 27 
 
 When they reached the street-carred street, they 
 found two tracks, but nothing occupying them, as far 
 as they could peer either way. A small shopkeeper 
 in a tiny shop proved to be a delicatessen merchant 
 so busily selling foreign horrors to aliens, that they 
 learned nothing from him. 
 
 At length, in the far-away, they made out a head- 
 light, and heard the grind and squeal of a car. Lieu- 
 tenant Mallory waited for it, watch in hand. He 
 boosted Marjorie's elbow aboard and bombarded 
 the conductor with questions. But the conductor had 
 no more heard of their street than they had of his. 
 Their agitation did not disturb his stoic calm, but he 
 invited them to come along to the next crossing, 
 where they could find another car and more learned 
 conductors; or, what promised better, perhaps a 
 cab. 
 
 He threw Marjorie into a panic by ordering her 
 to jettison Snoozleums, but the lieutenant bought 
 his soul for a small price, and overlooked the fact 
 that he did not ring up their fares. 
 
 The young couple squeezed into a seat and talked 
 anxiously in sharp whispers. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be terrible, Harry, if, just as we got 
 to the minister's, we should find papa there ahead 
 of us, waiting to forbid the bands, or whatever it is? 
 Wouldn't it be just terrible?" 
 
 "Yes, it would, honey, but it doesn't seem prob- 
 able. There are thousands of ministers in Chicago.
 
 28 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 He could never find ours. Fact is. I doubt if we 
 find him ourselves." 
 
 Her clutch tightened till he would have winced, if 
 he had not been a soldier. 
 
 "What do you mean, Harry?" 
 
 "Well, in the first place, honey, look what time it 
 is. Hardly more than time enough to get the train. 
 to say nothing of hunting for that preacher and 
 standing up through a long rigmarole." 
 
 "Why, Harry Mallory, are you getting ready to 
 jilt me?" 
 
 "Indeed I'm not not for worlds, honey, but I've 
 got to get that train, haven't I ?" 
 
 "Couldn't you wait over one train just one tiny 
 little train?" 
 
 "My own, own honey love, you know it's impossi- 
 ble! You must remember that I've already waited 
 over three trains while you tried to make up your 
 mind." 
 
 "And you must remember, darling, that it's no 
 easy matter for a girl to decide to sneak away from 
 home and be married secretly, and go all the way out 
 to that hideous Manila with no trousseau and no 
 wedding presents and no anything." 
 
 "I know it isn't, and I waited patiently while you 
 got up the courage. But now there are no more 
 trains. I shudder to think of this train being late. 
 We're not due in San Francisco till Thursday even- 
 ing, and my transport sails at sunrise Friday morn-
 
 29 
 
 ing. Oh, Lord, what if I should miss that trans- 
 port! What if I should!" 
 
 "What if we should miss the minister?" 
 
 "It begins to look a great deal like it." 
 
 "But, Harry, you wouldn't desert me now aban- 
 don me to my fate?" 
 
 "Well, it isn't exactly like abandonment, seeing 
 that you could go home to your father and mother in 
 a taxicab." 
 
 She stared at him in horror. 
 
 "So you don't want me for your wife! You've 
 changed your mind! You're tired of me already! 
 Only an hour together, and you're sick of your bar- 
 gain! You're anxious to get rid of me! You n 
 
 "Oh, honey, I want you more than anything else 
 on earth, but I'm a soldier, dearie, a mere lieutenant 
 in the regular army, and I'm the slave of the Govern- 
 ment. I've gone through West Point, and they won't 
 let me resign respectably and if I did, we'd starve. 
 They wouldn't accept my resignation, but they'd be 
 willing to courtmartial me and dismiss me the 
 service in disgrace. Then you wouldn't want to 
 marry me and I shouldn't have any way of sup- 
 porting you if you did. I only know one trade, and 
 that's soldiering." 
 
 "Don't call it a trade, beloved, it's the noblest 
 profession in all the world, and you're the noblest 
 soldier that ever was, and in a year or two you'll be 
 the biggest general in the army."
 
 30 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 He could not afford to shatter such a devout illu- 
 sion or quench the light of faith in those beloved and 
 loving eyes. He tacitly admitted his ability to be 
 promoted commander-in-chief in a year or two. He 
 allowed that glittering possibility to remain, used it 
 as a basis for argument. 
 
 "Then, dearest, you must help me to do my duty." 
 She clasped his upper arm as if it were an altar 
 and she an Iphigenia about to be sacrificed to save 
 the army. And she murmured with utter heroism : 
 "I will ! Do what you like with me !" 
 He squeezed her hand between his biceps and his 
 ribs and accepted the offering in a look drenched 
 with gratitude. Then he said, matter-of-factly: 
 
 "We'll see how much time we have when we get 
 to whatever the name of that street is." 
 
 The car jolted and wailed on its way like an old 
 drifting rocking chair. The motorman was in no 
 hurry. The passengers seemed to have no occasion 
 for haste. Somebody got on or got off at almost 
 every corner, and paused for conversation while 
 the car waited patiently. But eventually the con- 
 ductor put his head in and drawled: 
 "Hay! here's where you get off at." 
 They hastened to debark and found themselves 
 in a narrow, gaudily-lighted region where they saw 
 a lordly transfer-distributor, a profound scholar in 
 Chicago streets. He informed them that the min- 
 ister's street lay far back along the path they had
 
 IN DARKEST CHICAGO 3? 
 
 come; they should have taken a car in the opposite 
 direction, transferred at some remote center, de- 
 scended at some unheard-of street, walked three 
 blocks one way and four another, and there they 
 would have been. 
 
 Mallory looked at his watch, and Marjorie's 
 hopes dropped like a wrecked aeroplane, for he 
 grimly asked how long it would take them to reach 
 the railroad station. 
 
 "Well, you'd ought to make it in forty minutes," 
 the transfer agent said and added, cynically, "if the 
 car makes schedule." 
 
 "Good Lord, the train starts in twenty minutes!" 
 
 "Well, I tell you take this here green car to 
 Wexford Avenoo there's usually a taxicab or two 
 standin' there." 
 
 "Thank you. Hop on, Marjorie." 
 
 Marjorie hopped on, and they sat down, Mallory 
 with eyes and thoughts on nothing but the watch 
 he kept in his hand. 
 
 During this tense journey the girl perfected her 
 souTTor graceful martyrdom. 
 
 "I'll go to the train with you, Harry, and then 
 you can send me home in a taxicab." 
 
 Her nether lip trembled and her eyes were filmed, 
 but they were brave, and her voice was so tender 
 that it wooed his mind from his watch. He gazed at 
 her, and found her so dear, so devoted and so piti- 
 fully exquisite, that he was almost overcome by an
 
 32 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 impulse to gather her into his arms there and then, 
 indifferent to the immediate passengers or to his far- 
 off military superiors. An hour ago they were young 
 lovers in all the lilt and thrill of elopement. She 
 had clung to him in the gloaming of their taxicab, as 
 it sped like a genie at their whim to the place where 
 the minister would unite their hands and raise his 
 own in blessing. Thence the new husband would 
 have carried the new wife away, his very own, soul 
 and body, duty and beauty. Then, ah, then in their 
 minds the future was an unwaning honeymoon, the 
 journey across the continent a stroll along a lover's 
 lane, the Pacific ocean a garden lake, and the Phil- 
 ippines a chain of Fortunate Isles decreed especially 
 for their Eden. And then the taxicab encountered 
 a lamppost. They thought they had merely wrecked 
 a motor car and lo, they had wrecked a Paradise. 
 
 The railroad ceased to be a lover's lane and be- 
 came a lingering torment; the ocean was a weltering 
 Sahara, and the Philippines a Dry Tortugas of 
 exile. 
 
 Mallory realized for the first time what heavy 
 burdens he had taken on with his shoulder straps; 
 what a dismal life of restrictions and hardships an 
 officer's life is bound to be. It was hard to obey 
 the soulless machinery of discipline, to be a brass- 
 buttoned slave. He felt all the hot, quick resent- 
 ment that turns a faithful soldier into a deserter. 
 But it takes time to evolve a deserter, and Mallory
 
 IN DARKEST CHIC A GO 33 
 
 had only twenty minutes. The handcuffs and leg- 
 irons of discipline hobbled him. He was only a little 
 cog in a great clock, and the other wheels were im- 
 pinging on him and revolving in spite of himself. 
 
 In the close-packed seats where they were jostled 
 and stared at, the soldier could not even attempt to 
 explain to his fascinated bride the war of motives in 
 his breast. He could not voice the passionate rebel- 
 lion her beauty had whipped up in his soul. Perhaps 
 if Romeo and Juliet had been forced to say farewell 
 on a Chicago street car instead of a Veronese bal- 
 cony, their language would have lacked savor, too. 
 
 Perhaps young Mr. Montague and young Miss 
 Capulet, instead of wailing, "No, that is not the 
 lark whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high 
 above our heads," would have done no better than 
 Mr. Mallory and Miss Newton. In any case, the 
 best these two could squeeze out was: 
 
 "It's just too bad, honey." 
 
 "But I guess it can't be helped, dear," 
 
 "It's a mean old world, isn't it?" 
 
 "Awful!" 
 
 And then they must pile out into the street again 
 so lost in woe that they did not know how they were 
 trampled or elbowed. Marjorie's despair was so 
 complete that it paralyzed instinct. She forgot 
 Snoozleums! A thoughtful passenger ran out and 
 tossed the basket into Mallory's arms even as the car 
 moved off.
 
 34 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Fortune relented a moment and they found a taxi- 
 cab waiting where they had expected to find it. Once 
 more they were cosy in the flying twilight, but their 
 grief was their only baggage, and the clasp of their 
 hands talked all the talk there was. 
 
 Anxiety within anxiety tormented them and they 
 feared another wreck. But as they swooped down 
 upon the station, a kind-faced tower clock beamed 
 the reassurance that they had three minutes to spare. 
 
 The taxicab drew up and halted, but they did not 
 get out. They were kissing good-byes, fervidly and 
 numerously, while a grinning station-porter winked at 
 the winking chauffeur. 
 
 Marjorie simply could not have done with fare- 
 wells. 
 
 "I'll go to the gate with you," she said. 
 
 He told the chauffeur to wait and take the young 
 lady home. The lieutenant looked so honest and the 
 girl so sad that the chauffeur simply touched his cap, 
 though it was not his custom to allow strange fares 
 to vanish into crowded stations, leaving behind noth- 
 ing more negotiable than instructions to wait.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A MOUSE AND A MOUNTAIN 
 
 ALL the while the foiled elopers were eloping, the 
 San Francisco sleeper was filling up. It had been 
 the receptacle of assorted lots of humanity tumbling 
 into it from all directions, with all sorts of souls, 
 bodies, and destinations. 
 
 The porter received each with that expert eye of 
 his. His car was his laboratory. A railroad journey 
 is a sort of test-tube of character; strange elements 
 meet under strange conditions and make strange com- 
 binations. The porter could never foresee the in- 
 gredients of any trip, nor their actions and reactions. 
 
 He had no sooner established Mr. Wedgewood 
 of London and Mr. Ira Lathrop of Chicago, in com- 
 parative repose, than his car was invaded by a wo- 
 man who flung herself into the first seat. She was 
 flushed with running, and breathing hard, but she 
 managed one gasp of relief: 
 
 "Thank goodness, I made it in time." 
 
 The mere sound of a woman's voice in the seat 
 back of him was enough to disperse Ira Lathrop. 
 With not so much as a glance backward to see what 
 
 35
 
 36 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 manner of woman it might be, he jammed his con- 
 tract into his pocket, seized his newspapers and re- 
 treated to the farthest end of the car, jouncing down 
 into berth number one, like a sullen snapping turtle. 
 
 Miss Anne Cattle's modest and homely valise had 
 been brought aboard by a leisurely station usher, 
 who set it down and waited with a speaking palm 
 outstretched. She had her tickets in her hand, but 
 transferred them to her teeth while she searched for 
 money in a handbag old fashioned enough to be 
 called a reticule. 
 
 The usher closed his fist on the pittance she 
 dropped into it and departed without comment. The 
 porter advanced on her with a demand for "Tickets, 
 please." 
 
 She began to ransack her reticule with flurried 
 haste, taking out of it a small purse, opening that, 
 closing it, putting it back, taking it out, searching 
 the reticule through, turning out a handkerchief, a 
 few hairpins, a few trunk keys, a baggage check, a 
 bottle of salts, a card or two and numerous other 
 maidenly articles, restoring them to place, looking 
 in the purse again, restoring that, closing the reti- 
 cule, setting it down, shaking out a book she carried, 
 opening her old valise, going through certain white 
 things blushingly, closing it again, shaking her skirts, 
 and shaking her head in bewilderment. 
 
 She was about to open the reticule again, when 
 the porter exclaimed:
 
 A MOUSE AND A MOUNTAIN 37 
 
 "I see it! Don't look no mo'. I see it!" 
 
 When she cast up her eyes in despair, her hatbrim 
 had been elevated enough to disclose the where- 
 abouts of the tickets. With a murmured apology, he 
 removed them from her teeth and held them under 
 the light. After a time he said : 
 
 "As neah as I can make out from the the un- 
 digested po'tion of this ticket, yo' numba is six." 
 
 "That's it six!" 
 
 "That's right up this way." 
 
 "Let me sit here till I get my breath," she pleaded, 
 "I ran so hard to catch the train." 
 
 "Well, you caught it good and strong." 
 
 "I'm so glad. How soon do we start?" 
 
 "In about half a houah." 
 
 "Really? Well, better half an hour too soon than 
 half a minute too late." She said it with such a 
 copy-book primness that the porter set her down as 
 a school-teacher. It was not a bad guess. She was 
 a missionary. With a pupil-like shyness he volun- 
 teered: 
 
 "Yo' berth is all ready whenever you wishes to 
 go to baid." He caught her swift blush and 
 amended it to "to retiah." 
 
 "Retire? before all the car?" said Miss Anne 
 Cattle, with prim timidity. "No, thank you! I in- 
 tend to sit up till everybody else has retired." 
 
 The porter retired. Miss Cattle took out a bit 
 of more or less useful fancy stitching and set to
 
 38 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 work like another Dorcas. Her needle had not 
 dived in and emerged many times before she was 
 holding it up as a weapon of defense against a sud- 
 den human mountain that threatened to crush her. 
 
 A vague round face, huge and red as a rising 
 moon, dawned before her eyes and from it came an 
 uncertain voice: 
 
 "Esscuzhe me, mad'm, no 'fensh intended." 
 
 The words and the breath that carried them gave 
 the startled spinster an instant proof that her 
 vis-a-vis did not share her Prohibition principles or 
 practices. She regarded the elephant with mouse- 
 like terror, and the elephant regarded the mouse 
 with elephantine fright, '-.hen he removed himself 
 from her landscape as quickly as he could and 
 lurched along the aisle, calling out merrily to the 
 porter: 
 
 "Chauffeur! chauffeur! don't go so fasht 'round 
 these corners." 
 
 He collided with a small train-boy singing his 
 nasal lay, but it was the behemoth and not the train- 
 boy that collapsed into a seat, sprawling as help- 
 lessly as a mammoth oyster on a table-cloth. 
 
 The porter rushed to his aid and hoisted him to 
 his feet with an uneasy sense of impending trouble. 
 He felt as if someone had left a monstrous baby on 
 his doorstep, but all he said was: 
 
 "Tickets, please." 
 
 There ensued a long search, fat, flabby hands
 
 A MOUSE AND A MOUNTAIN 39 
 
 flopping and fumbling from pocket to pocket. Once 
 more the porter was the discoverer. 
 
 "I see it. Don't look no mo'. Here it is up in 
 yo' hatband." He lifted it out and chuckled. "Had 
 it right next his brains and couldn't rememba !" He 
 took up the appropriately huge luggage of the bibu* 
 lous wanderer and led him to the other end of the 
 aisle. 
 
 "Numba two is yours, sah. Right heah all nice 
 and cosy, and already made up." 
 
 The big man looked through the curtains into the 
 cabined confinement, and groaned: 
 
 "That! Haven't you got a man's size berth?" 
 
 "Sorry, sah. That's as big a bunk as they is on 
 the train." 
 
 "Have I got to be locked up in that pigeon-hole 
 for for how many days is it to Reno?" 
 
 "Reno?" The porter greeted that meaningful 
 name with a smile. "We're doo in Reno the the 
 the mawnin' of the fo'th day, sah. Yassah." He 
 put the baggage down and started away, but the sad 
 fat man seized his hand, with great emotion : 
 
 "Don't leave me all alone in there, porter, for I'm 
 a broken-hearted man." 
 
 "Is that so? Too bad, sah." 
 
 "Were you ever a broken-hearted man, porter?" 
 
 "Always, sah." 
 
 "Did you ever put your trust in a false-hearted 
 woman?"
 
 40 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Often, sah." 
 
 "Was she ever true to you, porter?" 
 
 "Never, sah." 
 
 "Porter, we are partners in mis-sis-ery." 
 
 And he wrung the rough, black hand with a sol- 
 emnity that embarrassed the porter almost as much 
 as it would have embarrassed the passenger himself 
 if he could have understood what he was doing. The 
 porter disengaged himself with a patient but hasty: 
 
 "I'm afraid you'll have to 'scuse me. I got to 
 he'p the other passengers on bode." 
 
 "Don't let me keep you from your duty. Duty 
 
 is the the " But he could not remember what 
 
 duty was, and he would have dropped off to sleep, 
 if he had not been startled by a familiar voice which 
 the porter had luckily escaped. 
 
 "Pawtah! Pawtah! Can't you raise this light 
 or rather can't you lower it? Pawtah! This light 
 is so infernally dim I can't read." 
 
 To the Englishman's intense amazement his call 
 brought to him not the porter, but a rising moon with 
 the profound query: 
 
 "Whass a li'l thing like dim light, when the light 
 of your life has gone out?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon?" 
 
 Without further invitation, the mammoth de- 
 scended on the Englishman's territory. 
 
 "I'm a broken-hearted man, Mr. Mr. I didn't 
 get your name."
 
 A MOUSE AND A MOUNTAIN 41 
 
 "Er ah I dare say." 
 
 "Thanks, I will sit down." He lifted a great 
 carry-all and airily tossed it into the aisle, set the 
 Gladstone on the lap of the infuriated Englishman, 
 and squeezed into the seat opposite, making a sad 
 mix-up of knees. 
 
 "My name's Wellington. Ever hear of li'l 
 Jimmie Wellington? That's me." 
 
 "Any relation to the Duke?" 
 
 "Nagh!" 
 
 He no longer interested Mr. Wedgewood. But 
 Mr. Wellington was not aware that he was being 
 snubbed. He went right on getting acquainted: 
 
 "Are you married, Mr. Mr. ?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "My heartfelt congrashlations. Hang on to your 
 luck, my boy. Don't let any female take it away 
 from you." He slapped the Englishman on the 
 elbow amiably, and his prisoner was too stifled with 
 wrath to emit more than one feeble "Pawtah!" 
 
 Mr. Wellington mused on aloud: "Oh, if I had 
 only remained shingle. But she was so beautiful and 
 she swore to love, honor and obey. Mrs. Welling- 
 ton is a queen among women, mind you, and I have 
 .nothing to say against her except that she has the 
 temper of a tarantula." He italicized the word with 
 a light fillip of his left hand along the back of the 
 seat. He did not notice that he filliped the angry 
 head of Mr. Ira Lathrop in the next seat. He went
 
 42 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 on with his portrait of his wife. "She has the 
 'stravaganza of a sultana" another fillip for Mr. 
 Lathrop "the zhealousy of a cobra, the flirtatious- 
 ness of a humming bird." Mr. Lathrop was glar- 
 ing round like a man-eating tiger, but Wellington 
 talked on. "She drinks, swears, and smokes cigars, 
 otherwise she's fine a queen among women." 
 
 Neither this amazing vision of womankind, nor 
 this beautiful example of longing for confession 
 and sympathy awakened a response in the Eng- 
 lishman's frozen bosom. His only action was an- 
 other violent effort to disengage his cramped knees 
 from the knees of his tormentor; his only comment 
 a vain and weakening cry for help, "Pawtah! Paw- 
 tah!" 
 
 Wellington's bleary, teary eyes were lighted with 
 triumph. "Finally I saw I couldn't stand it any 
 longer so I bought a tic-hic-et to Reno. I 'stablish 
 a residensh in six monfths get a divorce no 
 shcandal. Even m'own wife won't know anything 
 about it." 
 
 The Englishman was almost attracted by this as- 
 tounding picture of the divorce laws in America. It 
 sounded so barbarically quaint that he leaned for- 
 ward to hear more, but Mr. Wellington's hand, like 
 a mischievous runaway, had wandered back into the 
 shaggy locks atop of Mr. Lathrop. His right hand 
 did not let his left know what it was doing, but
 
 A MOUSE AND A MOUNTAIN 43 
 
 proceeded quite independently to grip as much of 
 Lathrop's hair as it would hold. 
 
 Then as Mr. Wellington shook with joy at the 
 prospect of "Dear old Reno!" he began uncon- 
 sciously to draw Ira Lathrop's head after his hair 
 across the seat. The pain of it shot the tears into 
 Lathrop's eyes, and as he writhed and twisted he 
 was too full of profanity to get any one word out. 
 
 When he managed to wrench his skull free, he 
 was ready to murder his tormentor. But as soon 
 as he confronted the doddering and blinking toper, 
 he was helpless. Drunken men have always been 
 treated with great tenderness in America, and when 
 Wellington, seeing Lathrop's white hair, exclaimed 
 with rapture: "Why, hello, Pop! here's Pop!" the 
 most that Lathrop could do was to tear loose those 
 fat, groping hands, slap them like a school teacher, 
 and push the man away. 
 
 But that one shove upset Mr. Wellington and sent 
 him toppling down upon the pit of the Englishman's 
 stomach. 
 
 For Wedgewood, it was suddenly as if all the air 
 had been removed from the world. He gulped like 
 a fish drowning for lack of water. He was a long 
 while getting breath enough for words, but his first 
 words were wild demands that Mr. Wellington re- 
 move himself forthwith. 
 
 Wellington accepted the banishment with the sor-
 
 44 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 rowful eyes of a dying deer, and tottered away 
 wagging his fat head and wailing: 
 
 "I'm a broken-hearted man, and nobody gives 
 a - ." At this point he caromed over into Ira 
 Lathrop's berth and was welcomed with a savage 
 roar: 
 
 "What the devil's the matter with you?" 
 "I'm a broken-hearted man, that's all." 
 "Oh, is that all," Lathrop snapped, vanishing be- 
 hind his newspaper. The desperately melancholy 
 seeker for a word of human kindness bleared at the 
 blurred newspaper wall a while, then waded into a 
 new attempt at acquaintance. Laying his hand on 
 Lathrop's knee, he stammered: "Esscuzhe me, Mr. 
 
 From behind the newspaper came a stingy answer: 
 "Lathrop's my name if you want to know." 
 
 "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lothrop." 
 
 "Lathrop!" 
 
 "Lathrop! My name's Wellington. LP1 Jimmie 
 Wellington. Ever hear of me ?" 
 
 He waited with the genial smile of a famous man; 
 the smile froze at Lathrop's curt, "Don't think so." 
 
 He tried again: "Ever hear of well-known Chi- 
 cago belle, Mrs. Jimmie Wellington?" 
 
 "Yes, I've heard of her!" There was an omi- 
 nous grin in the tone. 
 
 Wellington waved his hand with modest pride. 
 "Well, I'm Jimmie."
 
 A MOUSE AND A MOUNTAIN 45 
 
 "Serves you right." 
 
 This jolt was so discourteous that Wellington de- 
 cided to protest: "Mister Latham!" 
 
 "Lathrop!" 
 
 The name came out with a whip-snap. He tried 
 to echo it, "La-//zrop/" "I don't like that Throp. 
 That's a kind of a seasick name, isn't it?" Finding 
 the newspaper still intervening between him and his 
 prey, he calmly tore it down the middle and pushed 
 through it like a moon coming through a cloud. "But 
 a man can't change his name by marrying, can he? 
 That's the worst of it. A woman can. Think of a 
 heartless cobra di capello in woman's form wearing 
 my fair name and wearing it out. Mr. La-throp, 
 did you ever put your trust in a false-hearted wo- 
 man?" 
 
 "Never put my trust in anybody." 
 
 "Didn't you ever love a woman?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Well, then, didn't you ever marry a woman?" 
 
 "Not one. I've had the measles and the mumps, 
 but I've never had matrimony." 
 
 "Oh, lucky man," beamed Wellington. "Hang 
 on to your luck." 
 
 "I intend to," said Lathrop, "I was born single 
 and I like it." 
 
 "Oh, how I envy you! You see, Mrs. Welling- 
 ton she's a queen among women, mind you a
 
 46 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 queen among women, but she has the 'stravagance 
 of a " 
 
 Lathrop had endured all he could endure, even 
 from a privileged character like little Jimmy Wel- 
 lington. He rose to take refuge in the smoking- 
 room. But the very vigor of this departure only 
 served to help Wellington to his feet, for he seized 
 Lathrop's coat and hung on, through the door, down 
 the little corridor, always explaining: 
 
 "Mrs. Wellington is a queen among women, mind 
 you, but I can't stand her temper any longer." 
 
 He had hardly squeezed into the smoking-room 
 when the porter and an usher almost invisible under 
 the baggage they carried brought in a new passen- 
 ger. Her first question was : 
 
 "Oh, porter, did a box of flowers, or candy, or 
 anything, come for me?" 
 
 "What name would they be in, miss?" 
 
 "Mrs. Wellington Mrs. James Wellington."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A QUEEN AMONG WOMEN 
 
 Miss ANNE CATTLE, seated in Mrs. Jimmie Wel- 
 lington's seat, had not heard Mr. Jimmie Welling- 
 ton's sketch of his wife. But she needed hardly 
 more than a glance to satisfy herself that she and 
 Mrs. Jimmie were as hopelessly antipathetic as only 
 two polite women can be. 
 
 Mrs. Jimmie was accounted something of a snob 
 in Chicago society, but perhaps the missionary was 
 a trifle the snobbisher of the two when they met. 
 
 Miss Gattle could overlook a hundred vices in a 
 Zulu queen more easily than a few in a fellow coun- 
 trywoman. She did not like Mrs. Jimmie, and she 
 was proud of it. 
 
 When the porter said, "I'm afraid you got this 
 lady's seat," Miss Gattle shot one glance at the in- 
 truder and rose stiffly. "Then I suppose I'll have 
 
 "Oh, please don't go, there's plenty of room," 
 Mrs. Wellington insisted, pressing her to remain. 
 This nettled Miss Gattle still more, but she sank 
 back, while the porter piled up expensive traveling- 
 
 47
 
 48 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 bags and hat boxes till there was hardly a place to 
 sit. But even at that Mrs. Jimmie felt called on to 
 apologize : 
 
 "I haven't brought much luggage. How I'll ever 
 live four days with this, I can't imagine. It will 
 be such a relief to get my trunks at Reno." 
 
 "Reno?" echoed Miss Cattle. "Do you live 
 there?" 
 
 "Well, theoretically, yes." 
 
 "I don't understand you." 
 
 "I've got to live there to get it." 
 
 "To get it? Oh!" A look of sudden and dread- 
 ful realization came over the missionary. Mrs. 
 Wellington interpreted it with a smile of gay defi- 
 ance: 
 
 "Do you believe in divorces?" 
 
 Anne Cattle stuck to her guns. "I must say I 
 don't. I think a law ought to be passed stopping 
 them." 
 
 "So do I," Mrs. Wellington amiably agreed, "and 
 I hope they'll pass just such a law after I get 
 mine." Then she ventured a little shaft of her own. 
 "You don't believe in divorces. I judge you've never 
 been married." 
 
 "Not once!" The spinster drew herself up, but 
 Mrs. Wellington disarmed her with an unexpected 
 bouquet: 
 
 "Oh, lucky woman! Don't let any heartless man 
 delude you into taking the fatal step."
 
 A QUEEN AMONG WOMEN 49 
 
 Anne Cattle was nothing if not honest. She con- 
 fessed frankly: "I must say that nobody has made 
 any violent efforts to compel me to. That's why 
 I'm going to China." 
 
 "To China!" Mrs. Wellington gasped, hardly 
 believing her ears. "My dear! You don't intend 
 to marry a laundryman?" 
 
 "The idea ! I'm going as a missionary." 
 
 "A missionary? Why leave Chicago?" Mrs. 
 Wellington's eye softened more or less convincingly: 
 "Oh, lovely! How I should dote upon being a mis- 
 sionary. I really think that after I get my divorce 
 I might have a try at it. I had thought of a convent, 
 but being a missionary must be much more exciting." 
 She dismissed the dream with an abrupt shake of 
 the head. "Excuse me, but do you happen to have 
 any matches?" 
 
 "Matches ! I never carry them !" 
 
 "They never have matches in the women's room, 
 and I've used my last one." 
 
 Miss Gattle took another reef in her tight lips. 
 "Do you smoke cigarettes?" 
 
 Mrs. Wellington's echoed disgust with disgust: 
 "Oh, no, indeed. I loathe them. I have the most 
 dainty little cigars. Did you ever try one?" 
 
 Miss Gattle stiffened into one exclamation point: 
 "Cigars! Me!" 
 
 Mrs. Jimmie was so well used to being disap- 
 proved of that it never disturbed her. She went on
 
 50 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 as if the face opposite were not alive with horror: 
 "I should think that cigars might be a great con- 
 solation to a lady missionary in the long lone hours 
 of what do missionaries do when they're not mis- 
 sionarying?" 
 
 "That depends." 
 
 There was something almost spiritual in Mrs. 
 Jimmie's beatific look: "I can't tell you what con- 
 solation my cigars have given me in my troubles. 
 Mr. Wellington objected but then Mr. Wellington 
 objected to nearly everything I did. That's why I 
 am forced to this dreadful step." 
 
 "Cigars?" 
 
 "Divorces." 
 
 "Divorces!" 
 
 "Well, this \>'ll be only my second my other was 
 such a nuisance. I got that from Jimmie, too. But 
 it didn't take. Then we made up and remarried. 
 Rather odd, having a second honeymoon with one's 
 first husband. But remarriage didn't succeed any 
 better. Jimmie fell off the water-wagon with an 
 awful splash, and he quite misunderstood my purely 
 platonic interest in Sammy Whitcomb, a nice young 
 fellow with a fool of a wife. Did you ever meet 
 Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb no? Oh, but you are a 
 lucky woman ! Indeed you are ! Well, when Jimmie 
 got jealous, I just gave him up entirely. I'm run- 
 ning away to Reno. I sent a note to my husband's 
 club, saying that I had gone to Europe, and he
 
 A QUEEN AMONG WOMEN 51 
 
 needn't try to find me. Poor fellow, he will. He'll 
 hunt the continent high and low for me, but all the 
 while I'll be in Nevada. Rather good joke on little 
 Jimmie, eh?" 
 
 "Excruciating!" 
 
 "But now I must go. Now I must go. I've really 
 become quite addicted to them." 
 
 "Divorces?" 
 
 "Cigars. Do stay here till I come back. I have 
 so much to say to you." 
 
 Miss Cattle shook her head in despair. She could 
 understand a dozen heathen dialects better than the 
 speech of so utter a foreigner as her fellow-coun- 
 trywoman. Mrs. Jimmie hastened away, rather 
 pleased at the shocks she had administered. She 
 enjoyed her own electricity. 
 
 In the corridor she administered another thrill 
 this time to a tall young man a stranger, as alert 
 for flirtation as a weasel for mischief. He huddled 
 himself and his suitcases into as flat a space as pos- 
 sible, murmuring: 
 
 "These corridors are so narrow, aren't they?" 
 
 "Aren't they?" said Mrs. Jimmie. "So sorry 
 to trouble you." 
 
 "Don't mention it." 
 
 She passed on, their glances fencing like playful 
 foils. Then she paused: 
 
 "Excuse me. Could you lend me a match? They 
 never have matches in the Women's Room."
 
 52 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 He succeeded in producing a box after much shift- 
 ing of burdens, and he was rewarded with a look 
 and a phrase : 
 
 '"'You have saved my life." 
 
 He started to repeat his "Don't mention it," but 
 it seemed inappropriate, so he said nothing, and she 
 vanished behind a door. He turned away, saying to 
 himself that it promised to be a pleasant journey. 
 He was halted by another voice another woman's 
 voice : 
 
 "Pardon me, but is this the car for Reno?" 
 
 He turned to smile, "I believe so!" Then his 
 eyes widened as he recognized the speaker. 
 
 "Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb!" 
 
 It promised to be a curious journey.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A CONSPIRACY IN SATIN 
 
 THE tall man emptied one hand of its suitcase to 
 clasp the hand the newcomer granted him. He held 
 it fast as he exclaimed: "Don't tell me that you 
 are bound for Reno !" She whimpered : "I'm afraid 
 so, Mr. Ashton." 
 
 He put down everything to take her other hand, 
 and tuned his voice to condolence : "Why, I thought 
 you and Sam Whitcomb were " 
 
 "Oh, we were until that shameless Mrs. Welling- 
 ton " 
 
 "Mrs. Wellington? Don't believe I know her." 
 
 "I thought everybody had heard of Mrs. Jimmie 
 Wellington." 
 
 "Mrs. Jimmie oh, yes, I've heard of her!" 
 Everybody seemed to have heard of Mrs. Jimmie 
 Wellington. 
 
 "What a dance she has led her poor husband!" 
 Mrs. Whitcomb said. "And my poor Sammy fell 
 into her trap, too." 
 
 Ashton, zealous comforter, took a wrathful tone : 
 "I always thought your husband was the most un- 
 mitigated " But Mrs. Whitcomb bridled at 
 
 53
 
 54= EXCUSE ME! 
 
 once. "How dare you criticize Sammy! He's the 
 nicest boy in the world." 
 
 Ashton recovered quickly. "That's what I started 
 to say. Will he contest the divorce ?" 
 
 "Of course not," she beamed. "The dear fellow 
 would never deny me anything. Sammy offered to 
 get it himself, but I told him he'd better stay in Chi- 
 cago and stick to business. I shall need such a lot 
 of alimony." 
 
 "Too bad he couldn't have come along," Ashton 
 insinuated. 
 
 But the irony was wasted, for she sighed: "Yes, 
 I shall miss him terribly. But we feared that if 
 he were with me it might hamper me in getting 
 a divorce on the ground of desertion." 
 
 She was trying to look earnest and thoughtful 
 and heartbroken, but the result was hardly plausible, 
 for Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb could not possibly have 
 been really earnest or really thoughtful; and her 
 heart was quite too elastic to break. She proved 
 it instantly, for when she heard behind her the 
 voice of a young man asking her to let him pass, 
 she turned to protest, but seeing that he was a 
 handsome young man, her starch was instantly 
 changed to sugar. And she rewarded his good looks 
 with a smile, as he rewarded hers with another. 
 
 Then Ashton intervened like a dog in the manger 
 and dragged her off to her seat, leaving the young 
 man to exclaim:
 
 A CONSPIRACY IN SATIN 55 
 
 "Some tamarind, that!" 
 
 Another young man behind him growled: "Cut 
 out the tamarinds and get to business. Mallory 
 will be here any minute." 
 
 "I hate to think what he'll do to us when he 
 sees what we've done to him." 
 
 "Oh, he won't dare to fight in the presence of 
 his little bridey-widey. Do you see the porter in 
 there?" 
 
 "Yes, suppose he objects." 
 
 "Well, we have the tickets. We'll claim it's our 
 section till Mallory and Mrs. Mallory come." 
 
 They moved on into the car, where the porter 
 confronted them. When he saw that they were 
 loaded with bundles of all shapes and sizes, he 
 waved them away with scorn : 
 
 "The emigrant sleepa runs only Toosdays and 
 Thuzzdays." 
 
 From behind the first mass of packages came a 
 brisk military answer: 
 
 "You black hound! About face forward 
 march! Section number one." 
 
 The porter retreated down the aisle, apologiz- 
 ing glibly. " 'Scuse me for questionin' you, but 
 you-all's baggage looked kind o' eccentric at first.'* 
 The two young men dumped their parcels on 
 the seats and began to unwrap them hastily. 
 
 "If Mallory catches us, he'll kill us," said Lieu- 
 tenant Shaw. Lieutenant Hudson only laughed
 
 '56 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 and drew out a long streamer of white satin ribbon. 
 Its glimmer, and the glimmering eyes of the young 
 man excited Mrs. Whitcomb so much that after a 
 little hesitance she moved forward, followed by the 
 jealous Ashton. 
 
 "Oh, what's up?" she ventured. "It looks like 
 something bridal." 
 
 "Talk about womanly intuition!" said Lieutenant 
 Hudson, with an ingratiating salaam. 
 
 And then they explained to her that their class- 
 mate at West Point, being ordered suddenly to the 
 Philippines, had arranged to elope with his beloved 
 Marjorie Newton; had asked them to get the 
 tickets and check the baggage while he stopped at 
 i minister's to "get spliced and hike for Manila by 
 this train." 
 
 Having recounted this plan in the full belief that 
 it was even at that moment being carried out suc- 
 cessfully, Lieutenant Hudson, with a ghoulish smile, 
 explained : 
 
 "Being old friends of the bride and groom, we 
 want to fix their section up in style and make them 
 truly comfortable." 
 
 "Delicious!" gushed Mrs. Whitcomb. "But you 
 ought to have some rice and old shoes." 
 
 "Here's the rice," said Hudson. 
 
 "Here's the old shoes," said Shaw. 
 
 "Lovely!" cried Mrs. Whitcomb, but then she 
 grew soberer. "I should think, though, that they
 
 A CONSPIRACY IN SATIN 57 
 
 the young couple would have preferred a state- 
 room." 
 
 "Of course," said Hudson, almost blushing, 
 "but it was taken. This was the best we could do 
 for them." 
 
 "That's why we want to make it nice and bride- 
 like," said Shaw. "Perhaps you could help us a 
 woman's touch " 
 
 "Oh, I'd love to," she glowed, hastening into 
 the section among the young men and the bundles. 
 The unusual stir attracted the porter's suspicions. 
 He came forward with a look of authority: 
 
 " 'Scuse me, but wha what's all this?" 
 
 "Vanish get out," said Hudson, poking a coin 
 at him. As he turned to obey, Mrs. Whitcomb 
 checked him with: "Oh, Porter, could you get us 
 a hammer and some nails?" 
 
 The porter almost blanched: "Good Lawd, Miss, 
 you ain't allowin' to drive nails in that woodwork, 
 is you?" That woodwork was to him what the 
 altar is to the priest. 
 
 But Hudson, resorting to heroic measures, hyp- 
 notized him with a two-dollar bill : "Here, take this 
 and see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing." The 
 porter caressed it and chuckled: "I'm blind, deaf 
 and speechless." He turned away, only to come 
 back at once with a timid " 'Scuse me!" 
 
 "You here yet?" growled Hudson. 
 
 Anxiously the porter pleaded: "I just want to
 
 58 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 ast one question. Is you all fixin' up for a bridal 
 couple?" 
 
 "Foolish question, number eight million, forty- 
 three," said Shaw. "Answer, no, we are." 
 
 The porter's face glistened like fresh stove polish 
 as he gloated over the prospect. "I tell you, it'll be 
 mahty refreshin' to have a bridal couple on bode ! 
 This dog-on old Reno train don't carry nothin' much 
 but divorcees. I'm just nachally hongry for a bridal 
 couple." 
 
 "Brile coup-hic-le ?" came a voice, like an echo 
 that had somehow become intoxicated in transit. 
 It was Little Jimmie Wellington looking for more 
 sympathy. "Whass zis about brile couple?" 
 
 "Why, here's Little Buttercup!" sang out young 
 Hudson, looking at him in amazed amusement. 
 
 "Did I un'stan' somebody say you're preparing 
 for a brile coupl' ?" 
 
 Lieutenant Shaw grinned. "I don't know what 
 you understood, but that's what we're doing." 
 
 Immediately Wellington's great face began to 
 churn and work like a big eddy in a river. Suddenly 
 he was weeping. "Excuse these tears, zhentlemen, 
 but I was once I was once a b-b-bride myself." 
 
 "He looks like a whole wedding party," was Ash- 
 ton's only comment on the copious grief. It was 
 poor Wellington's fate to hunt as vainly for sym- 
 pathy as Diogenes for honesty. The decorators 
 either ignored him or shunted him aside. They
 
 A CONSPIRACY IN SATIN 59 
 
 were interested in a strange contrivance of ribbons 
 and a box that Shaw produced. 
 
 "That," Hudson explained, "is a little rice trap. 
 We hang that up there and when the bridal couple 
 sit down biff ! a shower of rice all over them. It's 
 bad, eh?" 
 
 Everybody agreed that it was a happy thought 
 and even Jimmie Wellington, like a great baby t 
 bounding from tears to laughter on the instant, 
 was chortling: "A rishe trap? That's abslootly 
 splendid greates' invensh' modern times. I must 
 stick around and see her when she flops." And 
 then he lurched forward like a too-obliging elephant. 
 "Let me help you." 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb, who had now mounted a step 
 ladder and poised herself as gracefully as possible, 
 shrieked with alarm, as she saw Wellington's bulk 
 rolling toward her frail support. 
 
 If Hudson and Shaw had not been football vet- 
 erans at West Point and had not known just what 
 to do when the center rush comes bucking the line, 
 they could never have blocked that flying wedge. 
 But they checked him and impelled him backward 
 through his own curtains into his own berth. 
 
 Finding himself on his back, he decided to remain 
 there. And there he remained, oblivious of the car- 
 nival preparations going on just outside his canopy.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE MASKED MINISTER 
 
 BEI1S3 an angel must have this great advantage 
 at least, that one may sit in the grandstand over- 
 looking the earth and enjoy the ludicrous blunders 
 of that great blind man's buff we call life. 
 
 This night, if any angels were watching Chi- 
 cago, the Mallory mix-up must have given them a 
 good laugh, or a good cry according to their na- 
 tures. 
 
 Here were Mallory and Marjorie, still merely 
 engaged, bitterly regretting their inability to get 
 married and to continue their journey together. 
 There in the car were the giggling conspirators 
 preparing a bridal mockery for their sweet confu- 
 sion. 
 
 Then the angels might have nudged one another 
 and said: 
 
 "Oh, it's all right now. There goes a minister 
 hurrying to their very car. Mallory has the license 
 in his pocket, and here comes the parson. Hoo- 
 ray!" 
 
 And then the angelic cheer must have died out 
 
 60
 
 THE MASKED MINISTER 61 
 
 as the one great hurrah of a crowded ball-ground 
 is quenched in air when the home team's vitally 
 needed home run swerves outside the line and drops 
 useless as a stupid foul ball. 
 
 In a shabby old hack, were two of the happiest 
 runaways that ever sought a train. They were not 
 miserable like the young couple in the taxicab. 
 They were w'hite-haired both. They had baen mar- 
 ried for thirty years. Yet this was their real honey- 
 moon, their real elopement. 
 
 The little woman in the timid gray bonnet clapped 
 her hands and tittered like a schoolgirl. 
 
 "Oh, Walter, I can't believe we're really going 
 to leave Ypsilanti for a while. Oh, but you've 
 earned it after thirty years of being a preacher." 
 
 "Hush. Don't let me hear you say the awful 
 word," said the little old man in the little black hat 
 and the close-fitting black bib. "I'm so tired of it, 
 Sally, I don't want anybody on the train to know it." 
 
 "They can't help guessing it, with your collar 
 buttoned behind." 
 
 And then the amazing minister actually dared to 
 say, "Here's where I change it around." What's 
 more, he actually did it. Actually took off his collar 
 and buttoned it to the front. The old carriage 
 seemed almost to rock with the earthquake of the 
 deed. 
 
 "Why, Walter Temple!" his wife exclaimed. 
 "What would they say in Ypsilanti ?"
 
 62 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "They'll never know," he answered, defiantly. 
 
 "But your bib?" she said. 
 
 "I've thought of that, too," he cried, as he 
 whipped it off and stuffed it into a handbag. "Look, 
 what I've bought." And he dangled before her 
 startled eyes a long affair which the sudden light 
 from a passing lamppost revealed to be nothing less 
 than a flaring red tie. 
 
 The little old lady touched it to make sure she 
 was not dreaming it. Then, omitting further parley 
 with fate, she snatched it away, put it round his 
 neck, and, since her arms were embracing him, kissed 
 him twice before she knotted the ribbon into a flam- 
 ing bow. She sat back and regarded the vision a 
 moment, then flun^ her arms around him and 
 hugged him till he gasped: 
 
 "Watch out vatch out. Don't crush my cigars." 
 
 "Cigars! Cigars!" she echoed, in a daze. 
 
 And then the astounding husband produced them 
 in proof. 
 
 "Genuine Lillian Russells five cents straight." 
 
 "But I never saw you smoke." 
 
 "Haven't taken a puff since I was a young fellow," 
 he grinned, wagging his head. "But now it's my 
 vacation, and I'm going to smoke up." 
 
 She squeezed his hand with an earlier ardor: 
 "Now you're the old Walter Temple I used to 
 know." 
 
 "Sally," he said, "I've been traveling through
 
 "NO\V IT'S MY VACATION, AND I'M GOING TO SMOKE UP"
 
 THE MASKED MINISTER 63 
 
 life on a half-fare ticket. Now I'm going to have 
 my little fling. And you brace up, too, and be the: 
 old mischievous Sally I used to know. Aren't you 
 glad to be away from those sewing circles and gos- 
 sip-bees, and " 
 
 "Ugh! Don't ever mention them," she shud- 
 dered. Then she, too, felt a tinge of recurring; 
 springtide. "If you start to smoking, I think I'll 
 take up flirting once more." 
 
 He pinched her cheek and laughed. "As the 
 saying is, go as far as you desire and I'll leave the 
 coast clear." 
 
 He kept his promise, too, for they were no sooner 
 on the train and snugly bestowed in section five, than 
 he was up and off. 
 
 "Where are you going?" she asked. 
 
 "To the smoking-room," he swaggered, brandish- 
 ing a dangerous looking cigar. 
 
 "Oh, Walter," she snickered, "I feel like a young 
 runaway." 
 
 "You look like one. Be careful not to let any- 
 body know that you're a" he lowered his voice 
 "an old preacher's wife." 
 
 "I'm as ashamed of it as you are," she whispered. 
 Then he threw her a kiss and a wink. She threw 
 him a kiss and winked, too. And he went along 
 the aisle eyeing his cigar gloatingly. As he entered 
 the smoking-room, lighted the weed and blew out a 
 great puff with a sigh of rapture, who could have
 
 64 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 taken him, with his feet cocked up, and his red tie 
 rakishly askew, for a minister? 
 
 And Sally herself was busy disguising herself, 
 loosening up her hair coquettishly, smiling the prim- 
 ness out of the set corners of her mouth and even 
 let the truth be told at all costs even passing a 
 pink-powdered puff over her pale cheeks with guilty 
 surreptition. 
 
 Thus arrayed she was soon joining the conspira- 
 tors bedecking the bower for the expected bride and 
 groom. She was the youngest and most mischievous 
 of the lot. She felt herself a bride again, and vowed 
 to protect this timid little wife to come from too 
 much hilarity at the hands of the conspirators.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A MIXED PICKLE 
 
 MRS. WHITCOMB had almost blushed when she 
 had murmured to Lieutenant Hudson: 
 
 "I should think the young couple would have pre- 
 ferred a stateroom." 
 
 And Mr. Hudson had flinched a little as he ex- 
 plained: 
 
 "Yes, of course. We tried to get it, but it was 
 gone." 
 
 It was during the excitement over the decoration 
 of the bridal section, that the stateroom-tenants 
 slipped in unobserved. 
 
 First came a fluttering woman whose youthful 
 beauty had a certain hue of experience, saddening 
 and wisering. The porter brought her in from the 
 station-platform, led her to the stateroom's concave 
 door and passed in with her luggage. But she lin- 
 gered without, a Peri at the gate of Paradise. 
 When the porter returned to bow her in, she shiv- 
 ered and hesitated, and then demanded: 
 
 "Oh, Porter, are you sure there's nobody else 
 in there?" 
 
 The porter chuckled, but humored her panic. 
 
 65
 
 -66 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "I ain't seen nobody. Shall I look under the 
 seat?" 
 
 To his dismay, she nodded her head violently. 
 He rolled his eyes in wonderment, but returned to 
 the stateroom, made a pretense of examination, and 
 came back with a face full of reassurance. "No'm, 
 they's nobody there. Take a mighty small-size bur- 
 glar to squeeje unda that baid er berth. No'm, 
 nobody there." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 The gasp was so equivocal that he made bold to 
 ask: 
 
 "Is you pleased or disappointed?" 
 
 The mysterious young woman was too much agi- 
 tated to rebuke the impudence. She merely sighed : 
 "Oh, porter, I'm so anxious." 
 
 "I'm not now," he muttered, for she handed him 
 a coin. 
 
 "Porter, have you seen anybody on board that 
 looks suspicious?" 
 
 "Ewabody looks suspicious to me, Missy. But 
 what was you expecting especial?" 
 
 "Oh, porter, have you seen anybody that looks 
 like a detective in disguise?" 
 
 "Well, they's one man looks 's if he was dis- 
 guised as a balloon, but I don't believe he's no 
 slooch-hound." 
 
 "Well, if you see anything that looks like a de- 
 tective and he asks for Mrs. Fosdick "
 
 A MIXED PICKLE 7 
 
 "Mrs. What-dick?" 
 
 "Mrs. Fosdick! You tell him I'm not on board." 
 And she gave him another coin. 
 
 "Yassum," said the porter, lingering willingly on 
 such fertile soil. "I'll tell him Mrs. Fosdick done 
 give me her word she wasn't on bode." 
 
 "Yes! and if a woman should ask you." 
 
 "What kind of a woman?" 
 
 "The hideous kind that men call handsome." 
 
 "Oh, ain't they hideous, them handsome women?" 
 
 "Well, if such a woman asks for Mrs. Foscfick 
 she's my husband's first wife but of course that 
 doesn't interest you." 
 
 "No'm yes'm." 
 
 "If she comes tell her tell her oh, what shall 
 we tell her?" 
 
 The porter rubbed his thick skull: "Lemme see 
 we might say you I tell you what we'll tell her: 
 we'll tell her you took the train for New York; and 
 if she runs mighty fast she can just about ketch it." 
 
 "Fine, fine!" And she rewarded his genius with 
 another coin. "And, porter." He had not budged. 
 "Porter, if a very handsome man with luscious eyes 
 and a soulful smile asks for me " 
 
 "I'll th'ow him off the train!" 
 
 "Oh, no no! that's my husband my present 
 husband. You may let him in. Now is it all per- 
 fectly clear, porter?" 
 
 "Oh, vassum, clear as clear." Thus guaranteed
 
 68 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 she entered the stateroom, leaving the porter alone 
 with his problem. He tried to work it out in a semi- 
 audible mumble: "Lemme see! If your present 
 husband's absent wife gits on bode disguised as a 
 handsome hideous woman I'm to throw him her 
 off the train and let her him come in oh, 
 yassum, you may rely on me." He bowed and held 
 out his hand again. But she was gone. He shuffled 
 on into the car. 
 
 He had hardly left the little space before the 
 stateroom when a handsome man with luscious 
 eyes, but without any smile at all, came slinking 
 along the corridor and tapped cautiously on the 
 door. Silence alone answered him at first, then 
 when he had rapped again, he heard a muffled: 
 "Go away. I'm not in." 
 
 He put his lips close and softly called: "Edith!" 
 At this Sesame the door opened a trifle, but when 
 he tried to enter, a hand thrust him back and a voice 
 again warned him off. "You musn't come in." 
 "But I'm your husband." 
 
 "That's just why you musn't come in." The door 
 opened a little wider to give him a view of a down- 
 cast beauty moaning: 
 
 "Oh, Arthur, I'm so afraid." 
 "Afraid?" he sniffed. "With your husband 
 here?" 
 
 "That's the trouble, Arthur. What if your 
 former wife should find us together?"
 
 A MIXED PICKLE 69 
 
 "But she and I are divorced." 
 
 "In some states, yes but other states don't ac- 
 knowledge the divorce. That former wife of yours 
 is a fiend to pursue us this way." 
 
 "She's no worse than your former husband. He's 
 pursuing us, too. My divorce was as good as yours, 
 my dear." 
 
 "Yes, and no better." 
 
 The angels looking on might have judged from 
 the ready tempers of the newly married and not en- 
 tirely unmarried twain that their new alliance prom- 
 ised to be as exciting as their previous estates. 
 Perhaps the man subtly felt the presence of those 
 eternal eavesdroppers, for he tried to end the love- 
 duel in the corridor with an appeasing caress and a 
 tender appeal: "But let's not start our honeymoon 
 with a quarrel." 
 
 His partial wife returned the caress and tried to 
 explain: "I'm not quarreling with you, dear heart, 
 but with the horrid divorce laws. Why, oh, why 
 did we ever interfere with them?" 
 
 He made a brave effort with: "We ended two 
 unhappy marriages, Edith, to make one happy 
 one." 
 
 "But I'm so unhappy, Arthur, and so afraid." 
 
 He seemed a trifle afraid himself and his gaze 
 was askance as he urged: "But the train will start 
 soon, Edith and then we shall be safe." 
 
 Mrs. Fosdick had a genius for inventing unpleas-
 
 70 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 ant possibilities. "But what if your former wife or 
 my former husband should have a detective on 
 board?" 
 
 "A detective? poof!" He snapped his fingers 
 in bravado. "You are with your husband, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "In Illinois, yes," she admitted, very dolefully. 
 "But when we come to Iowa, I'm a bigamist, and 
 when we come to Nebraska, you're a bigamist, and 
 when we come to Wyoming, we're not married at 
 all." 
 
 It was certainly a tangled web they had woven, 
 but a ray of light shot through it into his bewildered 
 soul. "But we're all right in Utah. Come, dear- 
 est." 
 
 He took her by the elbow to escort her into their 
 sanctuary, but still she hung back. 
 
 "On one condition, Arthur that you leave me 
 as soon as we cross the Iowa state line, and not 
 come back till we get to Utah. Remember, the 
 Iowa state line!" 
 
 "Oh, all right," he smiled. And seeing the por- 
 ter, he beckoned him close and asked with careless 
 indifference: "Oh, Porter, what time do we reach 
 the Iowa state line?" 
 
 "Two fifty-five in the mawning, sah." 
 
 "Two fifty-five A. M.?" the wretch exclaimed. 
 
 "Two fifty-five A. M., yassah," the porter re- 
 peated, and wondered why this excerpt from the
 
 A MIXED PICKLE 71 
 
 time-table should exert such a dramatic effect on the 
 luscious-eyed Fosdick. 
 
 He had small time to meditate the puzzle, for the 
 train was about to be launched upon its long voy- 
 age. He went out to the platform, and watched a 
 couple making that way. As their only luggage was 
 a dog-basket he supposed that they were simply come 
 to bid some of his passengers good-bye. No tips 
 were to be expected from such transients, so he 
 allowed them to help themselves up the steps. 
 
 Mallory and his Marjorie had tried to kiss the 
 farewell of farewells half a dozen times, but she 
 could not let him go at the gate. She asked the guard 
 to let her through, and her beauty was bribe enough. 
 
 Again and again, she and Mallory paused. He 
 wanted to take her back to the taxicab, but she would 
 not be so dismissed. She must spend the last avail- 
 able second with him. 
 
 "I'll go as far as the steps of the car," she said. 
 When they were arrived there, two porters, a sleep- 
 ing car conductor and several smoking saunterers 
 profaned the tryst. So she whispered that she would 
 come aboard, for the corridor would be a quiet lane 
 for the last rites. 
 
 And now that he had her actually on the train, 
 Mallory' s whole soul revolted against letting her go. 
 The vision of her standing on the platform sad- 
 eyed and lorn, while the train swept him off into
 
 Y2 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 space was unendurable. He shut his eyes against it, 
 but it glowed inside the lids. 
 
 And then temptation whispered him its old "Why 
 not?" While it was working in his soul like a fer- 
 menting yeast, he was saying: 
 
 "To think that we should owe all our misfortune 
 to an infernal taxicab's break-down." 
 
 Out of the anguish of her loneliness crept one 
 little complaint: 
 
 "If you had really wanted me, you'd have had two 
 taxicabs." 
 
 "Oh, how can you say that? I had the license 
 bought and the minister waiting." 
 
 "He's waiting yet." 
 
 "And the ring there's the ring." He fished it 
 out of his waistcoat pocket and held it before her 
 as a golden amulet. 
 
 "A lot of good it does now," said Marjorie. 
 "You won't even wait over till the next train." 
 
 "I've told you a thousand times, my love," he 
 protested, desperately, "if I don't catch the trans- 
 port, I'll be courtmartialed. If this train is late, 
 I'm lost. If you really loved me you'd come along 
 with me." 
 
 Her very eyes gasped at this astounding pro- 
 posal. 
 
 "Why, Harry Mallory, you know it's impossible." 
 
 Like a sort of benevolent Satan, he laid the 
 ground for his abduction: "You'll leave me, then,
 
 A MIXED PICKLE 73 
 
 to spend three years without you out among those 
 Manila women." 
 
 She shook her head in terror at this vision. "It 
 would be too horrible for words to have you marry 
 one of those mahogany sirens." 
 
 He held out the apple. "Better come along, 
 then." 
 
 "But how can I? We're not married." 
 
 He answered airily: "Oh, I'm sure there's a min- 
 ister on board." 
 
 "But it would be too awful to be married with all 
 the passengers gawking. No, I couldn't face it. 
 Good-bye, honey." 
 
 She turned away, but he caught her arm: "Don't 
 you love me?" 
 
 "To distraction. I'll wait for you, too." 
 
 "Three years is a long wait." 
 
 "But I'll wait, if you will." 
 
 With such devotion he could not tamper. It was 
 too beautiful to risk or endanger or besmirch with 
 any danger of scandal. He gave up his fantastic 
 project and gathered her into his arms, crowded 
 her into his very soul, as he vowed: "I'll wait for 
 you forever and ever and ever." 
 
 Her arms swept around his neck, and she gave 
 herself up as an exile from happiness, a prisoner of 
 a far-off love: 
 
 "Good-bye, my husband-to-be."
 
 74 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Good-bye my wife-that-was-to-have-been-and- 
 will-be-yet-maybe." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 "I must go." 
 
 "Yes, you must." 
 
 "One last kiss." 
 
 "One more one long last kiss." 
 
 And there, entwined in each other's arms, with 
 lips wedded and eyelids clinched, they clung together, 
 forgetting everything past, future, or present. 
 Love's anguish made them blind, mute, and deaf. 
 
 They did not hear the conductor crying his, "All 
 Aboard!" down the long wall of the train. They 
 did not hear the far-off knell of the bell. They did 
 not hear the porters banging the vestibules shut. 
 They did not feel the floor sliding out with them. 
 
 And so the porter found them, engulfed in one 
 embrace, swaying and swaying, and no more aware 
 of the increasing rush of the train than we other pas- 
 sengers on the earth-express are aware of its speed 
 through the ether-routes on its ancient schedule. 
 
 The porter stood with his box-step in his hand, 
 and blinked and wondered. And they did not even 
 know they were observed.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ALL ABOARD ! 
 
 THE starting of the train surprised the ironical 
 decorators in the last stages of their work. Their 
 smiles died out in a sudden shame, as it came over 
 them that the joke had recoiled on their own heads. 
 They had done their best to carry out the time- 
 honored rite of making a newly married couple as 
 miserable as possible and the newly married couple 
 had failed to do its share. 
 
 The two lieutenants glared at each other in mutual 
 contempt. They had studied much at West Point 
 about ambushes, and how to avoid them. Could 
 Mallory have escaped the pit they had digged for 
 him? They looked at their handiwork in disgust. 
 The cosy-corner effect of white ribbons and orange 
 flowers, gracefully masking the concealed rice-trap, 
 had seemed the wittiest thing ever devised. Now 
 it looked the silliest. 
 
 The other passengers were equally downcast. 
 Meanwhile the two lovers in the corridor were kiss- 
 ing good-byes as if they were hoping to store up 
 honey enough to sustain their hearts for a three 
 
 75
 
 76 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 years' fast. And the porter was studying them with 
 perplexity. 
 
 He was used, however, to waking people out of 
 dreamland, and he began to fear that if he were 
 discovered spying on the lovers, he might suffer. 
 So he coughed discreetly three or four times. 
 
 Since the increasing racket of the train made no 
 effect on the two hearts beating as one, the small 
 matter of a cough was as nothing. 
 
 Finally the porter was compelled to reach forward 
 and tap Mallory's arm, and stutter: 
 
 " 'Scuse me, but co-could I git b-by?" 
 
 The embrace was untied, and the lovers stared at 
 him with a dazed, where-am-I? look. Marjorie was 
 the first to realize what awakened them. She felt 
 called upon to say something, so she said, as care- 
 lessly as if she had not just emerged from, a young 
 gentleman's arms: 
 
 "Oh, porter, how long before the train starts?" 
 
 "Train's done started, Missy." 
 
 This simple statement struck the wool from her 
 eyes and the cotton from her ears, and she was 
 wide enough awake when she cried: "Oh, stop it 
 stop it!" 
 
 "That's mo'n I can do, Missy," the porter expos- 
 tulated. 
 
 "Then I'll jump off," Marjorie vowed, making a 
 dash for the door.
 
 ALL ABOARD! 77 
 
 But the porter filled the narrow path, and waved 
 her back. 
 
 "Vestibule's done locked up train's going lickety- 
 split." Feeling that he had safely checkmated any 
 rashness, the porter squeezed past the dumbfounded 
 pair, and went to change his blue blouse for the 
 white coat of his chambermaidenly duties. Mai- 
 lory's first wondering thought was a rapturous feel- 
 ing that circumstances had forced his dream into 
 a reality. He thrilled with triumph: "You've got 
 to go with me now." 
 
 "Yes I've got to go," Marjorie assented meekly; 
 then, sublimely, "It's fate. Kismet!" 
 
 They clutched each other again in a fiercely bliss- 
 ful hug. Marjorie came back to earth with a bump : 
 "Are you really sure there's a minister on board?" 
 
 "Pretty sure," said Mallory, sobering a trifle. 
 
 "But you said you were sure?" 
 
 "Well, when you say you're sure, that means 
 you're not quite sure." 
 
 It was not an entirely satisfactory justification, and 
 Marjorie began to quake with alarm: "Suppose 
 there shouldn't be?" 
 
 "Oh, then," Mallory answered carelessly, "there's 
 bound to be one to-morrow." 
 
 Marjorie realized at once the enormous abyss be- 
 tween then and the morrow, and she gasped: "To- 
 morrow! And no chaperon! Oh, I'll jump out 
 of the window."
 
 78 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Mallory could prevent that, but when she pleaded, 
 "What shall we do?" he had no solution to offer. 
 Again it was she who received the first inspiration. 
 
 "I have it," she beamed. 
 
 "Yes, Marjorie?" he assented, dubiously. 
 
 "We'll pretend not to be married at all." 
 
 He seized the rescuing ladder: "That's it! Not 
 married just friends." 
 
 "Till we can get married " 
 
 "Yes, and then we can stop being friends." 
 
 "My love my friend!" They embraced in a 
 most unfriendly manner. 
 
 An impatient yelp from the neglected dog-basket 
 awoke them. 
 
 "Oh, Lord, we've brought Snoozleums." 
 
 "Of course we have." She took the dog from 
 the prison, tucked him under her arm, and tried to 
 compose her bridal face into a merely friendly coun- 
 tenance before they entered the car. But she must 
 pause for one more kiss, one more of those bitter- 
 sweet good-byes. And Mallory was nothing loath. 
 
 Hudson and Shaw were still glumly perplexed, 
 when the porter returned in his white jacket. 
 
 "I bet they missed the train; all this work for 
 nothing," Hudson grumbled. But Shaw, seeing the 
 porter, caught a gleam of hope, and asked anxiously : 
 
 "Say, porter, have you seen anything anywhere 
 that looks like a freshly married pair?" 
 
 "Well," and the porter rubbed his eyes with the
 
 ALL ABOARD! 79 
 
 back of his hand as he chuckled, "well, they's a 
 mighty lovin' couple out theah in the corridor." 
 
 "That's them they it!" 
 
 Instantly everything was alive and in action. It 
 was as if a bugle had shrilled in a dejected camp. 
 
 "Get ready!" Shaw commanded. "Here's rice 
 for everybody." 
 
 "Everybody take an old shoe," said Hudson. 
 "You can't miss in this narrow car." 
 
 "There's a kazoo for everyone, too," said Shaw, 
 as the outstretched hands were equipped with wed- 
 ding ammunition. "Do you know the 'Wedding 
 March'?" 
 
 "I ought to by this time," said Mrs. Whitcomb. 
 
 Right into the tangle of preparation, old Ira 
 Lathrop stalked, on his way back to his seat to get 
 more cigars. 
 
 "Have some rice for the bridal couple?" said 
 Ashton, offering him of his own double-handful. 
 
 But Lathrop brushed him aside with a romance- 
 hater's growl. 
 
 "Watch out for your head, then," cried Hudson, 
 and Lathrop ducked just too late to escape a neck- 
 filling, hair-filling shower. An old shoe took him a 
 clip abaft the ear, and the old woman-hater dropped 
 raging into the same berth where the spinster, Anne 
 Cattle, was trying to dodge the same downpour. 
 
 Still there was enough of the shrapnel left to 
 overwhelm the two young "friends," who marched
 
 80 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 into the aisle, trying to look indifferent and pre- 
 pared for nothing on earth less than for a wedding 
 charivari. 
 
 Mallory should have done better than to entrust 
 his plans to fellows like Hudson and Shaw, whom 
 he had known at West Point for diabolically joyous 
 hazers and practical jokers. Even as he sputtered 
 rice and winced from the impact of flying footgear, 
 he was cursing himself as a double-dyed idiot for 
 asking such men to engage his berth for him. He 
 had a sudden instinct that they had doubtless be- 
 decked his trunk and Marjorie's with white satin 
 furbelows and ludicrous labels. But he could not 
 shelter himself from the white sleet and the black 
 thumps. He could hardly shelter Marjorie, who 
 cowered behind him and shrieked even louder than 
 the romping tormentors. 
 
 When the assailants had exhausted the rice and 
 shoes, they charged down the aisle for the privi- 
 lege of kissing the bride. Mallory was dragged 
 and bunted and shunted here and there, and he had 
 to fight his way back to Marjorie with might and 
 main. He was tugging and striking like a demon, 
 and yelling, "Stop it! stop it!" 
 
 Hudson took his punishment with uproarious 
 good nature, laughing: 
 
 "Oh, shut up, or we'll kiss you !" 
 
 But Shaw was scrubbing his wry lips with a sea- 
 sick wail of:
 
 ALL ABOARD! 81 
 
 "Wow! I think I kissed the dog." 
 
 There was, of necessity, some pause for breath, 
 and the combatants draped themselves limply about 
 the seats. Mallory glared at the twin Benedict 
 Arnolds and demanded: 
 
 "Are you two thugs going to San Francisco with 
 us?" 
 
 "Don't worry," smiled Hudson, "we're only going 
 as far as Kedzie Avenue, just to start the honeymoon 
 properly." 
 
 If either of the elopers had been calmer, the solu- 
 tion of the problem would have been simple. Mar- 
 jorie could get off at this suburban station and drive 
 home from there. But their wits were like pied 
 type, and they were further jumbled, when Shaw 
 broke in with a sudden: "Come, see the little dove- 
 cote we fixed for you." 
 
 Before they knew it, they were both haled along 
 the aisle to the white satin atrocity. "Love in a 
 bungalow," said Hudson. "Sit down make your- 
 selves perfectly at home." 
 
 "No never oh, oh, oh!" cried Marjorie, dart- 
 ing away and throwing herself into the first empty 
 seat Ira Lathrop's berth. Mallory followed to 
 console her with caresses and murmurs of, "There, 
 there, don't cry, dearie!" 
 
 Hudson and Shaw followed close with mawkish 
 mockery: "Don't cry, dearie." 
 
 And now Mrs. Temple intervened. She had en-
 
 82 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 joyed the initiation ceremony as well as anyone. But 
 when the little bride began to cry, she remembered 
 the pitiful terror and shy shame she had undergone 
 as a girl-wife, and she hastened to Marjorie's side, 
 brushing the men away like gnats. 
 
 "You poor thing," she comforted. "Come, my 
 child, lean on me, and have a good cry." 
 
 Hudson grinned, and put out his own arms: "She 
 can lean on me, if she'd rather." 
 
 Mrs. Temple glanced up with indignant rebuke: 
 "Her mother is far away, and she wants a mother's 
 breast to weep on. Here's mine, my dear." 
 
 The impudent Shaw tapped his own military 
 chest: "She can use mine." 
 
 Infuriated at this bride-baiting, Mallory rose and 
 confronted the two imps with clenched fists: "You're 
 a pretty pair of friends, you are !" 
 
 The imperturbable Shaw put out a pair of tickets 
 as his only defence : "Here are your tickets, old boy." 
 
 And Hudson roared jovially: "We tried to get 
 you a stateroom, but it was gone." 
 
 "And here are your baggage checks," laughed 
 Shaw, forcing into his fists a few pasteboards. "We 
 got your trunks on the train ahead, all right. Don't 
 mention it you're entirely welcome." 
 
 It was the porter that brought the first relief from 
 the ordeal. 
 
 "If you gemmen is gettin' off at Kedzie Avenue, 
 you'd better step smart. We're slowin' up now."
 
 ALL ABOARD! 83 
 
 Marjorie was sobbing too audibly to hear, and 
 Mallory swearing too inaudibly to heed the oppor- 
 tunity Kedzie Avenue offered. And Hudson was 
 yelling: "Well, good-bye, old boy and old girl. Sorry 
 we can't go all the way." He had the effrontery 
 to try to kiss the bride good-bye, and Shaw was 
 equally bold, but Mallory's fury enabled him to 
 beat them off. He elbowed and shouldered them 
 down the aisle, and sent after them one of his own 
 shoes. But it just missed Shaw's flying coattails. 
 
 Mallory stood glaring after the departing trait- 
 ors. He was glad that they at least were gone, till 
 he realized with a sickening slump in his vitals, that 
 they had not taken with them his awful dilemma. 
 And now the train was once more clickety-clicking 
 into the night and the West.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 EXCESS BAGGAGE 
 
 NEVER wa<j a young soldier so stumped by a 
 p, >blem in tactics as Lieutenant Harry Mallory, 
 sa/ely aboard his train, and not daring to leave it, 
 yet hopelessly unaware of how he was to dispose 
 of his lovely but unlabelled baggage. 
 
 Hudson and Shaw had erected a white satin tem- 
 ple to Hymen in berth number one, had created such 
 commotion, and departed in such confusion, that 
 there had been no opportunity to proclaim that he 
 and Marjorie were "not married just friends." 
 
 And now the passengers had accepted them as 
 that enormous fund of amusement to any train, a 
 newly wedded pair. To explain the mistake would 
 have been difficult, even among friends. But among 
 strangers well, perhaps a wiser and a colder brain 
 than Harry Mallory's could have stood there and 
 delivered a brief oration restoring truth to her ped- 
 estal. But Mallory was in no condition for such a 
 stoic delivery. 
 
 He mopped his brow in agony, lost in a blizzard 
 of bewilderments. He drifted back toward Mar- 
 jorie, half to protect and half for companionship. 
 
 84
 
 EXCESS BAGGAGE 85 
 
 He found Mrs. Temple cuddling her close and 
 mothering her as if she were a baby instead of a 
 bride. 
 
 "Did the poor child run away and get married?" 
 
 Marjorie's frantic "Boo-hoo-hoo" might have 
 meant anything. Mrs. Temple took it for assent, 
 and murmured with glowing reminiscence : 
 
 "Just the way Doctor Temple and I did." 
 
 She could not see the leaping flash of wild hope 
 that lighted up Mallory's face. She only heard his 
 voice across her shoulder: 
 
 "Doctor? Doctor Temple? Is your husband a 
 reverend doctor?" 
 
 "A reverend doctor?" the little old lady repeated 
 weakly. 
 
 "Yes a a preacher?" 
 
 The poor old congregation-weary soul was 
 abruptly confronted with the ruination of all the 
 delight in her little escapade with her pulpit-fagged 
 husband. If she had ever dreamed that the girl 
 who was weeping in her arms was weeping from 
 any other fright than the usual fright of young 
 brides, fresh from the preacher's benediction, she 
 would have cast every other consideration aside, 
 and told the truth. 
 
 But her husband's last behest before he left her 
 had been to keep their p-ecious pretend-secret. She 
 felt just then that a woman's first duty is to obey 
 her husband. Besides, what business was it of this
 
 86 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 young husband's what her old husband's business 
 was? Before she had fairly begun to debate her 
 duty, almost automatically, with the instantaneous 
 instinct of self-protection, her lips had uttered the 
 denial: 
 
 "Oh he's just a plain doctor. There he is 
 now." 
 
 Mallory cast one miserable glance down the aisle 
 at Dr. Temple coming back from the smoking room. 
 As the old man paused to stare at the bridal berth, 
 whose preparation he had not seen, he was just 
 enough befuddled by his first cigar for thirty years 
 to look a trifle tipsy. The motion of the train and 
 the rakish tilt of his unwonted crimson tie confirmed 
 the suspicion and annihilated Mallory's new-born 
 hope, that perhaps repentant fate had dropped a 
 parson at their very feet. 
 
 He sank into the seat opposite Marjorie, who 
 gave him one terrified glance, and burst into fresh 
 sobs: 
 
 "Oh oh boo-hoo I'm so unhap hap py." 
 
 Perhaps Mrs. Temple was a little miffed at the 
 couple that had led her astray and opened her own 
 honeymoon with a wanton fib. In any case, the best 
 consolation she could offer Marjorie was a perfunc- 
 tory pat, and a cynicism : 
 
 "There, there, dear! You don't know what real 
 unhappiness is yet. Wait till you've been married a 
 while."
 
 EXCESS BAGGAGE 87 
 
 And then she noted a startling lack of complete- 
 ness in the bride's hand. 
 
 "Why my dear! where's your wedding ring?" 
 
 With what he considered great presence of mind, 
 Mallory explained: "It it slipped off I I picked 
 it up. I have it here." And he took the little gold 
 band from his waistcoat and tried to jam it on Mar- 
 iorie's right thumb. 
 
 "Not on the thumb !" Mrs. Temple cried. "Don't 
 you know?" 
 
 "You see, it's my first marriage." 
 
 "You poor boy this finger!" And Mrs. Tem- 
 ple, raising Marjorie's limp hand, selected the 
 proper digit, and held it forward, while Mallory 
 pressed the fatal circlet home. 
 
 And then Mrs. Temple, having completed their 
 installation as man and wife, utterly confounded 
 their confusion by her final effort at comfort: "Well, 
 my dears, I'll go back to my seat, and leave you 
 alone with your dear husband." 
 
 "My dear what?" Marjorie mumbled inanely, and 
 began to sniffle again. Whereupon Mrs. Temple 
 resigned her to Mallory, and consigned her to fate 
 with a consoling platitude: 
 
 "Cheer up, my dear, you'll be all right in the 
 morning." 
 
 Marjorie and Mallory's eyes met in one wild 
 clash, and then both stared into the window, and did 
 not notice that the shades were down.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A CHANCE RENCOUNTER 
 
 WHILE Mrs. Temple was confiding to her hus- 
 band that the agitated couple in the next seat had 
 just come from a wedding-factory, and had got on 
 while he was lost in tobacco land, the people in the 
 seat on the other side of them were engaged in a lit- 
 tle drama of their own. 
 
 Ira Lathrop, known to all who knew him as a 
 woman-hating snapping-turtle, was so busily engaged 
 trying to drag the farthest invading rice grains out 
 of the back of his neck, that he was late in realizing 
 his whereabouts. When he raised his head, he 
 found that he had crowded into a seat with an un- 
 comfortable looking woman, who crowded against 
 the window with old-maidenly timidity. 
 
 He felt some apology to be necessary, and he 
 snarled: "Disgusting things, these weddings!" After 
 he heard this, it did not sound entirely felicitous, so 
 he grudgingly ventured: "Excuse me you mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 She denied the soft impeachment so heartily that 
 he softened a little:
 
 A CHANCE RENCOUNTER 89 
 
 "You're a sensible woman. I guess you and I 
 are the only sensible people on this train." 
 
 "It seems so," she giggled. It was the first 
 time her spinstership had been taken as material for 
 a compliment. Something in the girlish giggle and 
 the strangely young smile that swept twenty years 
 from her face and belied the silver lines in her hair, 
 seemed to catch the old bachelor's attention. He 
 stared at her so fiercely that she looked about for 
 a way of escape. Then a curiously anxious, almost a 
 hungry, look softened his leonine jowls into a boyish 
 eagerness, and his growl became a sort of gruff purr: 
 
 "Say, you look something like an old sweetheart 
 er friend of mine. Were you ever in Brat- 
 tleboro, Vermont?" 
 
 A flush warmed her cheek, and a sense of home 
 warmed her prim speech, as she confessed: 
 
 "I came from there originally." 
 
 "So did I," said Ira Lathrop, leaning closer, and 
 beaming like a big sun: "I don't suppose you remem- 
 ber Ira Lathrop?" 
 
 The old maid stared at the bachelor as if she 
 were trying to see the boy she had known, through 
 the mask that time had modeled on his face. And 
 then she was a girl again, and her voice chimed as 
 she cried: 
 
 "Why, Ira! Mr. Lathrop! is it you?" 
 
 She gave him her hand both her hands, and he 
 smothered them in one big paw and laid the other
 
 90 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 on for extra warmth, as he nodded his savage head 
 and roared as gentle as a sucking dove: 
 
 "Well, well! Annie Anne Miss Cattle! 
 What do you think of that?" 
 
 They gossiped across the chasm of years about 
 people and things, and knew nothing of the excite- 
 ment so close to them, saw nothing of Chicago slip- 
 ping back into the distance, with its many lights 
 shooting across the windows like hurled torches. 
 
 Suddenly a twinge of ancient jealousy shot 
 through the man's heart, recurring to old emotions. 
 
 "So you're not married, Annie. Whatever be- 
 came of that fellow who used to hang round you all 
 the time?" 
 
 "Charlie Selby?" She blushed at the name, and 
 thrilled at the luxury of meeting jealousy. "Oh, he 
 entered the church. He's a minister out in Ogden, 
 Utah." 
 
 "I always knew he'd never amount to much," was 
 Lathrop's epitaph on his old rival. Then he started 
 with a new twinge: "You bound for Ogden, too?" 
 
 "Oh, no," she smiled, enraptured at the new sen- 
 sation of making a man anxious, and understanding 
 all in a flash the motives that make coquettes. Then 
 she told him her destination. "I'm on my way to 
 China." 
 
 "China!" he exclaimed. "So'm I!" 
 
 She stared at him with a new thought, and gushed : 
 "Oh, Ira are you a missionary, too?"
 
 A CHANCE RENCOUNTER 91 
 
 "Missionary? Hell, no!" he roared. "Excuse 
 me I'm an importer Anne, I I " 
 
 But the sonorous swear reverberated in their ears 
 like a smitten bell, and he blushed for it, but could 
 not recall it.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYSTACK 
 
 THE almost-married couple sat long in mutual 
 terror and a common paralysis of ingenuity. Mar- 
 jorie, for lack of anything better to do, was absent- 
 mindedly twisting Snoozleums's ears, while he, that 
 pocket abridgment of a dog, in a well meaning effort 
 to divert her from her evident grief, made a great 
 pretence of ferocity, growling and threatening to 
 bite her fingers off. The new ring attracted his spe- 
 cial jealousy. He was growing discouraged at the 
 ill-success of his impersonation of a wolf, and de- 
 jected at being so crassly ignored, when he suddenly 
 became, in his turn, a center of interest. 
 
 Marjorie was awakened from her trance of inani- 
 tion by the porter's voice. His plantation voice was 
 ordinarily as thick and sweet as his own New Orleans 
 sorghum, but now it had a bitterness that curdled 
 the blood: 
 
 " 'Scuse me, but how did you-all git that theah 
 dog in this heah cah?" 
 
 "Snoozleums is always with me," said Marjorie 
 briskly, as if that settled it, and turned for confirma- 
 tion to the dog himself, "aren't you, Snoozleums?" 
 
 92
 
 THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYSTACK 93 
 
 "Well," the porter drawled, trying to be gracious 
 with his great power, "the rules don't 'low no live 
 stock in the sleepin' cars, 'ceptin' humans." 
 
 Marjorie rewarded his condescension with a 
 blunt: "Snoozleums is more human than you are." 
 
 "I p'sume he is," the porter admitted, "but he 
 can't make up berths. Anyway, the rules says dogs 
 goes with the baggage." 
 
 Marjorie swept rules aside with a defiant: "I 
 don't care. I won't be separated from my Snoozle- 
 ums." 
 
 She looked to Mallory for support, but he was too 
 sorely troubled with greater anxieties to be capable 
 of any action. 
 
 The porter tried persuasion: "You betta lemme 
 take him, the conducta is wuss'n what I am. He 
 th'owed a couple of dogs out the window trip befo' 
 last." 
 
 "The brute!" 
 
 "Oh, yassum, he is a regulah brute. He just loves 
 to hear 'm splosh when they light." 
 
 Noting the shiver that shook the girl, the porter 
 offered a bit of consolation: 
 
 "Better lemme have the pore little thing up in 
 the baggage cah. He'll be in charge of a lovely 
 baggage-smasher." 
 
 "Are you sure he's a nice man?" 
 
 "Oh, yassum, he's death on trunks, but he's a 
 natural born angel to dogs."
 
 94 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Well, if I must, I must," she sobbed. "Poor lit- 
 tle Snoozleums ! Can he come back and see me to- 
 morrow?" Marjorie's tears were splashing on the 
 puzzled dog, who nestled close, with a foreboding 
 of disaster. 
 
 "I reckon p'haps you'd better visit him." 
 
 "Poor dear little Snoozleums good night, my lit- 
 tle darling. Poor little child it's the first night he's 
 slept all by his 'ittle lonesome, and " 
 
 The porter was growing desperate. He clapped 
 his hands together impatiently and urged: "I think I 
 hear that conducta comin'." 
 
 The ruse succeeded. Marjorie fairly forced the 
 dog on him. "Quick hide him hurry!" she 
 gasped, and sank on the seat completely crushed. 
 "I'll be so lonesonv without Snoozleums." 
 
 Mallory felt called upon to remind her of his 
 presence. "I I'm here, Marjorie." She looked at 
 him just once at him, the source of all her troubles 
 buried her head in her arms, and resumed her 
 grief. Mallory stared at her helplessly, then rose 
 and bent over to whisper: 
 
 "I'm going to look through the train." 
 
 "Oh, don't leave me," she pleaded, clinging to 
 him with a dependence that restored his respect. 
 
 "I must find a clergyman," he whispered. "I'll be 
 back the minute I find one, and I'll bring him with 
 me." 
 
 The porter thought he wanted the dog back, and
 
 MARJORIE FAIRLY FORCED THE DOG ON HIM.
 
 THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYSTACK 95 
 
 quickened his pace till he reached the corridor, where 
 Mallory overtook him and asked, in an effort at cas- 
 ual indifference, if he had seen anything of a clergy- 
 man on board. 
 
 "Ain't seen nothin' that even looks like one," said 
 the porter. Then he hastened ahead to the baggage 
 car with the squirming Snoozleums, while Mallory 
 followed slowly, going from seat to seat and car to 
 car, subjecting all the males to an inspection that 
 rendered some of them indignant, others of them 
 uneasy. 
 
 If dear old Doctor Temple could only have known 
 what Mallory was hunting, he would have snatched 
 off the mask, and thrown aside the secular scarlet tie 
 at all costs. But poor Mallory, unable to recognize 
 a clergyman so dyed-in-the-wool as Doctor Temple, 
 sitting in the very next seat how could he be ex- 
 pected to pick out another in the long and crowded 
 train? 
 
 All clergymen look alike when they are in con- 
 vention assembled, but sprinkled through a crowd 
 they are not so easily distinguished. 
 
 In the sleeping car bound for Portland, Mallory 
 picked one man as a clergyman. He had a lean, 
 ascetic face, solemn eyes, and he was talking to his 
 seat-mate in an oratorical manner. Mallory bent 
 down and tapped the man's shoulder. 
 
 The effect was surprising. The man jumped as
 
 96 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 if he were stabbed, and turned a pale, frightened 
 face on Mallory, who murmured: 
 
 "Excuse me, do you happen to be a clergyman?" 
 
 A look of relief stole over the man's features, 
 followed closely by a scowl of wounded vanity: 
 
 "No, damn you, I don't happen to be a parson. I 
 have chosen to be well, if you had watched the 
 billboards in Chicago during our run, you would not 
 need to ask who I am!" 
 
 Mallory mumbled an apology and hurried on, 
 just overhearing his victim's sigh: 
 
 "Such is fame!" 
 
 He saw two or three other clerical persons in 
 that car, but feared to touch their shoulders. One 
 man in the last seat held him specially, and he hid 
 in the turn of the corridor, in the hope of eaves- 
 dropping some clue. This man was bent and schol- 
 astic of appearance, and wore heavy spectacles and 
 a heavy beard, which Mallory took for a guaranty 
 that he was not another actor. And he was reading 
 what appeared to be printer's proofs. Mallory felt 
 certain that they were a volume of sermons. He lin- 
 gered timorously in the environs for some time be- 
 fore the man spoke at all to the dreary-looking 
 woman at his side. Then the stranger spoke. And 
 this is what he said and read: 
 
 "I fancy this will make the bigots sit up and take 
 notice, mother: 'If there ever was a person named 
 Moses, it is certain, from the writings ascribed to
 
 THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYSTACK 97 
 
 him, that he disbelieved the Egyptian theory of a 
 life after death, and combated it as a heathenish 
 superstition. The Judaic idea of a future existence 
 was undoubtedly acquired from the Assyrians, dur- 
 ing the captivity.' ' 
 
 He doubtless read much more, but Mallory fled 
 to the next car. There he found a man in a frock 
 coat talking solemnly to another of equal solemnity. 
 The seat next them was unoccupied, and Mallory 
 dropped into it, perking his ears backward for news. 
 
 "Was you ever in Moline ?" one voice asked. 
 
 "Was I?" the other muttered. "Wasn't I run 
 out of there by one of my audiences. I was givin' 
 hypnotic demonstrations, and I had a run-in with 
 one of my 'horses,' and he done me dirt. Right in 
 the midst of one of his cataleptic trances, he got 
 down from the chairs where I had stretched him out 
 and hollered: 'He's a bum faker, gents, and owes me 
 two weeks' pay.' Thank Gawd, there was a back 
 door openin' on a dark alley leadin' to the switch 
 yard. I caught a caboose just as a freight train was 
 pullin' out." 
 
 Mallory could hardly get strength to rise and 
 continue his search. On his way forward he met the 
 conductor, crossing a vestibule between cars. A 
 happy thought occurred to Mallory. He said: 
 
 "Excuse me, but have you any preachers on 
 board?" 
 
 "None so far."
 
 98 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Positive." 
 
 "How can you tell?" 
 
 "Well, if a grown man offers me a half-fare ticket, 
 I guess that's a pretty good sign, ain't it?" 
 
 Mallory guessed that it was, and turned back, 
 hopeless and helpless.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HOSTILITIES BEGIN 
 
 DURING Mallory's absence, Marjorie had met 
 with a little adventure of her own. Ira Lathrop 
 finished his re-encounter with Anne Gattle shortly 
 after Mallory set out stalking clergymen. In the 
 mingled confusion of finding his one romantic flame 
 still glowing on a vestal altar, and of shocking her 
 with an escape of profanity, he backed away from 
 her presence, and sank into his own berth. 
 
 He realized that he was not alone. Somebody 
 was alongside. He turned to find the great tear- 
 sprent eyes of Marjorie staring at him. He rose 
 with a recrudescence of his woman-hating wrath, 
 and dashing up the aisle, found the porter just re- 
 turning from the baggage car. He seized the black 
 factotum and growled: 
 
 "Say, porter, there's a woman in my berth." 
 
 The porter chuckled, incredulous: 
 
 "Woman in yo' berth !" 
 
 "Yes get her out." 
 
 "Yassah," the porter nodded, and advanced on 
 Marjorie with a gentle, " 'Scuse me, missus yo' 
 berth is numba one." 
 
 99
 
 100 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "I don't care," snapped Marjorie, "I won't take 
 it." 
 
 "But this un belongs to that gentleman." 
 
 "He can have mine ours Mr. Mallory's," 
 cried Marjorie, pointing to the white-ribboned tent 
 in the farther end of the car. Then she gripped the 
 arms of the seat, as if defying eviction. The porter 
 stared at her in helpless chagrin. Then he shuffled 
 back and murmured: "I reckon you'd betta put her 
 out." 
 
 Lathrop withered the coward with one contemptu- 
 ous look, and strode down the aisle with a deter- 
 mined grimness. He took his ticket from his pocket 
 as a clinching proof of his title, and thrust it out 
 at Marjorie. She gave it one indifferent glance, and 
 then her eyes and mouth puckered, as if she had 
 munched a green persimmon, and a long low wail 
 like a distant engine-whistle, stole from her lips. Ira 
 Lathrop stared at her in blank wrath, doddered ir- 
 resolutely, and roared: 
 
 "Agh, let her have it!" 
 
 The porter smiled triumphantly, and said: "She 
 says you kin have her berth." He pointed at the 
 bridal arbor. Lathrop almost exploded at the idea. 
 
 Now he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned 
 to see Little Jimmie Wellington emerging from his 
 berth with an enormous smile : 
 
 "Say, Pop, have you seen lovely rice-trap? Stick 
 around till she flops."
 
 HOSTILITIES BEGIN 101 
 
 But Lathrop flung away to the smoking room. 
 1 ;ttle Jimmie turned to the jovial negro : 
 
 "Porter, porter." 
 
 "I'm right by you." 
 
 "What time d'you say we get to Reno?" 
 
 "Mawnin' of the fo'th day, sah." 
 
 "Well, call me just before we roll in." 
 
 And he rolled in. His last words floated down 
 the aisle and met Mrs. Little Jimmie Wellington 
 just returning from the Women's Room, where she 
 had sought nepenthe in more than one of her ex- 
 quisite little cigars. The familiar voice, familiarly 
 bibulous, smote her ear with amazement. She beck- 
 oned the porter to her anxiously. 
 
 "Porter! Porter! Do you know the name of 
 the man who just hurried in?" 
 
 "No'm," said the porter. "I reckon he's so broken 
 up he ain't got any name left." 
 
 "It couldn't be," Mrs. Jimmie mused. 
 
 "Things can be sometimes," said the porter. 
 
 "You may make up my berth now," said Mrs. 
 Wellington, forgetting that Anne Gattle was still 
 there. Mrs. Wellington hastened to apologize, and 
 begged her to stay, but the spinster wanted to be 
 far away from the disturbing atmosphere of divorce. 
 She was dreaming already with her eyes open, and 
 she sank into number six in a lotus-eater's reverie. 
 
 Mrs. Wellington gathered certain things together 
 and took up her handbag, to return to the Women's
 
 102 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Room, just as Mrs. Whitcomb came forth from the 
 curtains of her own berth, where she had made cer- 
 tain preliminaries to disrobing, and put on a light, 
 decidedly negligee negligee. 
 
 The two women collided in the aisle, whirled on 
 one another, as women do when they jostle, recog- 
 nized each other with wild stares of amazement, 
 set their teeth, and made a simultaneous dash along 
 the corridor, shoulder wrestling with shoulder. They 
 reached the door marked "Women" at the same in- 
 stant, and as neither would have dreamed of offer- 
 ing the other a courtesy, they squeezed through to- 
 gether in a Kilkenny jumble.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE DORMITORY ON WHEELS 
 
 OF all the shocking institutions in human history, 
 the sleeping car is the most shocking or would be, 
 if we were not so used to it. There can be no doubt 
 that we are the most moral nation on earth, for 
 we admit it ourselves. Perhaps we prove it, too, by 
 the Arcadian prosperity of these two-story hotels 
 on wheels, where miscellaneous travelers dwell in 
 complete promiscuity, and sleep almost side by side, 
 in apartments, or compartments, separated only by 
 a plank and a curtain, and guarded only by one 
 sleepy negro. 
 
 After the fashion of the famous country whose 
 inhabitants earned a meagre sustenance by taking in 
 each other's washing, so in Sleeping Carpathia we 
 attain a meagre respectability by everybody's chap- 
 eroning everybody else. 
 
 So topsy-turvied, indeed, are our notions, once 
 we are aboard a train, that the staterooms alone are 
 regarded with suspicion; we question the motives 
 of those who must have a room to themselves! a 
 room with a real door! that locks! ! 
 
 And, now, on this sleeping car, prettily named 
 "Snowdrop," scenes were enacting that would have 
 
 103
 
 104 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 thrown our great-grandmothers into fits scenes 
 which, if we found them in France, or Japan, we 
 should view with alarm as almost unmentionable evi- 
 dence of the moral obliquity of those nations. 
 
 But this was our own country the part of it 
 which admits that it is the best part the moralest 
 part, the staunch Middle West. This was Illinois. 
 Yet dozens of cars were beholding similar immodes- 
 tiest in chastest Illinois, and all over the map, thou- 
 sands of people, in hundreds of cars, were permitting 
 total strangers to view preparations which have 
 always, hitherto, been reserved for the most inti- 
 mate and legalized relations. 
 
 The porter was deftly transforming the day- 
 coach into a narrow lane entirely surrounded by 
 portieres. Behind most of the portieres, fluttering 
 in the lightest breeze, and perilously following the 
 hasty passer-by, homely offices were being enacted. 
 The population of this little town was going to bed. 
 The porter was putting them to sleep as if they were 
 children in a nursery, and he a black mammy. 
 
 The frail walls of little sanctums were bulging 
 with the bodies of people disrobing in the aisle, with 
 nothing between them and the beholder's eye but a 
 clinging curtain that explained what it did not re- 
 veal. From apertures here and there disembodied 
 feet were protruding and mysterious hands were 
 removing shoes and other things. 
 
 Women in risky attire were scooting to one end of
 
 THE DORMITORY ON WHEELS 105 
 
 the car, and men in shirt sleeves, or less, were has- 
 tening to the other. 
 
 When Mallory returned to the "Snowdrop," his 
 ear was greeted by the thud of dropping shoes. 
 He found Marjorie being rapidly immured, like 
 Poe's prisoner, in a jail of closing walls. 
 
 She was unspeakably ill at ease, and by the irony 
 of custom, the one person on whom she depended for 
 protection was the one person whose contiguity was 
 most alarming and all for lack of a brief trialogue, 
 with a clergyman, as the tertium quid. 
 
 When Mallory's careworn face appeared round 
 the edge of the partition now erected between her 
 and the abode of Doctor and Mrs. Temple, Mar- 
 jorie shivered anew, and asked with all anxiety: 
 
 "Did you find a minister?" 
 
 Perhaps the Recording Angel overlooked Mal- 
 lory's answer: "Not a damn' minister." 
 
 When he dropped at Marjorie's side, she edged 
 away from him, pleading: "Oh, what shall we do?" 
 
 He answered dismally and ineffectively: "We'll 
 have to go on pretending to be just friends." 
 
 "But everybody thinks we're married." 
 
 "That's so!" he admitted, with the imbecility of 
 fatigued hope. They sat a while listening to the 
 porter slipping sheets into place and thumping pil- 
 lows into cases, a few doors down the street. He 
 would be ready for them at any moment. Something 
 must be done, but what? what?
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A PREMATURE DIVORCE 
 
 SuLDENLY Marjorie's heart gave a leap of joy. 
 She was having another idea. "I'll tell you, Harry. 
 We'll pretend to quarrel, and then " 
 
 "And then you can leave me in high dudgeon." 
 
 The ruse struck him as a trifle unconvincing. 
 "Don't you think it looks kind of improbable on 
 on such an occasion?" 
 
 Marjorie blushed, and lowered her eyes and her 
 voice: "Can you suggest anything better?" 
 
 "No, but " 
 
 "Then, we'll have to quarrel, darling." 
 
 He yielded, for lack of a better idea : "All right, 
 beloved. How shall we begin?" 
 
 On close approach, the idea did seem rather im- 
 possible to her. "How could I ever quarrel with 
 you, my love?" she cooed. 
 
 He gazed at her with a rush of lovely tenderness: 
 "And how could I ever speak crossly to you?" 
 
 "We never shall have a harsh word, shall we?" 
 she resolved. 
 
 "Never !" he seconded. So that resolution passed 
 the House unanimously. 
 
 106
 
 A PREMATURE DIVORCE 107 
 
 They held hands in luxury a while, then she began 
 again: "Still, we must pretend. You start it, love." 
 
 "No, you start it," he pleaded. 
 
 "You ought to," she beamed. "You got me into 
 this mess." 
 
 The word slipped out. Mallory started: "Mess! 
 How is it my fault? Good Lord, are you going to 
 begin chucking it up?" 
 
 "Well, you must admit, darling," Marjorie urged, 
 "that you've bungled everything pretty badly." 
 
 It was so undeniable that he could only groan: 
 "And I suppose I'll hear of this till my dying day, 
 dearest." 
 
 Marjorie had a little temper all her own. So she 
 defended it: "If you are so afraid of my temper, 
 love, perhaps you'd better call it all off before it's 
 too late." 
 
 "I didn't say anything about your temper, sweet- 
 heart," Mallory insisted. 
 
 "You did, too, honey. You said I'd chuck this 
 up till your dying day. As if I had such a disposi- 
 tion! You can stay here." She rose to her feet. 
 He pressed her back with a decisive motion, and 
 demanded: "Where are you going?" 
 
 "Up in the baggage car with Snoozleums," she 
 sniffled. "He's the only one that doesn't find fault 
 with me." 
 
 Mallory was stung to action by this crisis: 
 "Wait," he said. He leaned out and motioned down
 
 108 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 the alley. "Porter! Wait a moment, darling. Por- 
 ter!" 
 
 The porter arrived with a half-folded blanket in 
 his hands, and his usual, "Yassah!" 
 
 Beckoning him closer, Mallory mumbled in a 
 low tone: "Is there an extra berth on this car?" 
 
 The porter's eyes seemed to rebuke his ears. 
 "Does you want this upper made up?" 
 
 "No of course not." 
 
 "Ex excuse me, I thought " 
 
 "Don't you dare to think!" Mallory thundered. 
 "Isn't there another lower berth?" 
 
 The porter breathed hard, and gave this bridal 
 couple up as a riddle that followed no known rules. 
 He went to find the sleeping car conductor, and 
 returned with the information that the diagram 
 showed nobody assigned to number three. 
 
 "Then I'll take number three," said Mallory, pok- 
 ing money at the porter. And still the porter could 
 not understand. 
 
 "Now, lemme onderstan' you-all," he stammered. 
 "Does you both move over to numba three, or does 
 yo' yo' lady remain heah, while jest you pream- 
 bulates?" 
 
 "Just I preambulate, you black hound!" Mal- 
 lory answered, in a threatening tone. The porter 
 could understand that, at least, and he bristled away 
 with a meek: "Yassah. Numba three is yours, 
 sah."
 
 A PREMATURE DIVORCE 109 
 
 The troubled features of the baffled porter cleared 
 up as by magic when he arrived at number three, 
 for there he found his tyrant and tormentor, the 
 English invader. 
 
 He remembered how indignantly Mr. Wedge- 
 wood had refused to show his ticket, how cocksure 
 he was of his number, how he had leased the por- 
 ter's services as a sort of private nurse, and had paid 
 no advance royalties. 
 
 And now he was sprawled and snoring majestic- 
 ally among his many luggages, like a sleeping lion. 
 Revenge tasted good to the humble porter; it tasted 
 like a candied yam smothered in 'possum gravy. He 
 smacked his thick lips over this revenge. With all 
 the insolence of a servant in brief authority, he 
 gloated over his prey, and prodded him awake. Then 
 murmured with hypocritical deference: "Excuse me, 
 but could I see yo' ticket for yo' seat?" 
 
 "Certainly not ! It's too much trouble," grumbled 
 the half asleeper. "Confound you!" 
 
 The porter lured him on: "Is you sho' you got 
 one?" 
 
 Wedgewood was wide awake now, and surly as 
 any Englishman before breakfast: "Of cawse I'm 
 shaw. How dare you?" 
 
 "Too bad, but I'm 'bleeged to ask you to gimme 
 a peek at it." 
 
 "This is an outrage!" 
 
 "Yassah, but I just nachelly got to see it."
 
 110 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Wedgewood gathered himself together, and ran- 
 sacked his many pockets with increasing anger, mut- 
 tering under his breath. At length he produced the 
 ticket, and thrust it at the porter: "Thah, you idiot, 
 are you convinced now?" 
 
 The porter gazed at the billet with ill-concealed 
 triumph. "Yassah. I's convinced," Mr. Wedge- 
 wood settled back and closed his eyes. "I's con- 
 vinced that you is in the wrong berth !" 
 
 "Impossible! I won't believe you!" the English- 
 man raged, getting to his feet in a fury. 
 
 "Perhaps you'll believe Mista Ticket," the porter 
 chortled. "He says numba ten, and that's ten across 
 the way and down the road a piece." 
 
 "This is outrageous! I decline to move." 
 
 "You may decline, but you move just the same," 
 the porter said, reaching out for his various bags 
 and carryalls. "The train moves and you move 
 with it." 
 
 Wedgewood stood fast: "You had no right to 
 put me in here in the first place." 
 
 The porter disdained to refute this slander. He 
 stumbled down the aisle with the bundles. "It's too 
 bad, it's sutt'nly too bad, but you sholy must come 
 along." 
 
 Wedgewood followed, gesticulating violently. 
 
 "Here wait how dare you! And that berth is 
 made up. I don't want to go to bed now I" 
 
 "Mista Ticket says, 'Go to baid!' "
 
 A PREMATURE DIVORCE 111 
 
 "Of all the disgusting countries! Heah, don't 
 put that thah heah." 
 
 The porter flung his load anywhere, and ab- 
 solved himself with a curt, "I's got otha passengers 
 to wait on now." 
 
 "I shall certainly report you to the company," 
 the Englishman fumed. 
 
 "Yassah, I p'sume so." 
 
 "Have I got to go to bed now? Really, I " 
 
 but the porter was gone, and the irate foreigner 
 crawled under his curtains, muttering: "I shall write 
 a letter to the London Times about this." 
 
 To add to his misery, Mrs. Whitcomb came from 
 the Women's Room, and as she passed him, she 
 prodded him with one sharp elbow and twisted the 
 corner of her heel into his little toe. He thrust his 
 head out with his fiercest, "How dare you!" But 
 Mrs. Whitcomb was fresh from a prolonged encoun- 
 ter with Mrs. Wellington, and she flung back a ven- 
 omous glare that sent the Englishman to cover. 
 
 The porter reveled in his victory till he had to 
 dash out to the vestibule to give vent to hilarious 
 yelps of laughter. When he had regained compo- 
 sure, he came back to Mallory, and bent over him to 
 say: 
 
 "Yo' berth is empty, sah. Shall I make it up?" 
 Mallory nodded, and turned to Marjorie, with 
 a sad, "Good night, darling." 
 
 The porter rolled his eyes again, and turned away,
 
 112 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 only to be recalled by Marjorie's voice: "Porter, 
 take this old handbag out of here." 
 
 The porter thought of the vanquished Lathrop, 
 exiled to the smoking room, and he answered: "That 
 belongs to the gemman what owns this berth." 
 
 "Put it in number one," Marjorie commanded, 
 with a queenly gesture. 
 
 The porter obeyed meekly, wondering what would 
 happen next. He had no sooner deposited Lathrop's 
 valise among the incongruous white ribbons, than 
 Marjorie recalled him to say: "And, Porter, you 
 may bring me my own baggage." 
 
 "Yo' what missus?" 
 
 "Our handbags, idiot," Mallory explained, 
 peevishly. 
 
 "I ain't seen no handbags of you-alls," the por- 
 ter protested. "You-all didn't have no handbags 
 when you got on this cah." 
 
 Mallory jumped as if he had been shot. "Good 
 Lord, I remember! We left 'em in the taxicab!" 
 
 The porter cast his hands up, and walked away 
 from the tragedy. Marjorie stared at Mallory in 
 horror. 
 
 "We had so little time to catch the train," Mal- 
 lory stammered. Marjorie leaped to her feet: "I'm 
 going up in the baggage car." 
 
 "For the dog?" 
 
 "For my trunk." 
 
 And now Mallory annihilated her completely, for
 
 A PREMATURE DIVORCE 113 
 
 he gasped: "Our trunks went on the train ahead !" 
 
 Marjorie fell back for one moment, then bounded 
 to her feet with shrill commands: "Porter! Porter! 
 I want you to stop this train this minute!" 
 
 The porter called back from the depths of a 
 berth: "This train don't stop till to-morrow 
 noon." 
 
 Marjorie had strength enough for only one vain 
 protest: "Do you mean to say that I've got to go to 
 San Francisco in this waist a waist that has seen a 
 whole day in Chicago?" 
 
 The best consolation Mallory could offer was com- 
 panionship in misery. He pushed forward one not 
 too immaculate cuff. "Well, this is the only linen I 
 have." 
 
 "Don't speak to me," snapped Marjorie, beating 
 her heels against the floor. 
 
 "But, my darling!" 
 
 "Go away and leave me. I hate you!" 
 
 Mallory rose up, and stumbling down the aisle, 
 plounced into berth number three, an allegory of 
 despair. 
 
 About this time, Little Jimmie Wellington, having 
 completed more or less chaotic preparations for 
 sleep, found that he had put on his pyjamas hindside 
 foremost. After vain efforts to whirl round quickly 
 and get at his own back, he put out a frowsy head, 
 and called for help. 
 
 "Say, Porter, Porter!"
 
 114 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "I'm still on the train," answered the porter, com- 
 ing into view. 
 
 "You'll have to hook me up." 
 
 The porter rendered what aid and correction he 
 could in Wellington's hippopotamine toilet. Wel- 
 lington was just wide enough awake to discern the 
 undisturbed bridal-chamber. He whined: 
 
 "Say, Porter, that rice-trap. Aren't they going 
 to flop the rice-trap ?" 
 
 The porter shook his head sadly. "Don't look 
 like that floppers a'goin' to flip. That dog-on bridal 
 couple is done divorced a'ready!"
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 GOOD NIGHT, ALL ! 
 
 THE car was settling gradually into peace. But 
 there was still some murmur and drowsy energy. 
 Shoes continued to drop, heads to bump against 
 upper berths, the bell to ring now and then, and ring 
 again and again. 
 
 The porter paid little heed to it; he was busy 
 making up number five (Ira Lathrop's berth) for 
 Marjorie, who was making what preparations she 
 could for her trousseauless, husbandless, dogless 
 first night out. 
 
 Finally the Englishman, who had almost rung the 
 bell dry of electricity, shoved from his berth his in- 
 dignant and undignified head. Once more the car 
 resounded with the cry of "Pawtah ! Pawtah !" 
 
 The porter moved up with noticeable delibera- 
 tion. "Did you ring, sah?" 
 
 "Did I ring! Paw-tah, you may draw my tub at 
 eight-thutty in the mawning." 
 
 "Draw yo' what, sah?" the porter gasped. 
 
 "My tub." 
 
 "Ba-ath tub?" 
 
 "Bahth tub." 
 
 115
 
 116 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Lawdy, man. Is you allowin' to take a ba-ath 
 in the mawnin'?" 
 
 "Of course I am." 
 
 "Didn't you have one befo' you stahted?" 
 
 "How dare you! Of cawse I did." 
 
 "Well, that's all you git." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that there is no tub on 
 this beastly train?" Wedgewood almost fell out 
 of bed with the shock of this news. 
 
 "We do not carry tubs no, sah. There's a lot 
 of tubs in San Francisco, though." 
 
 "No tub on this train for four days!" Wedge- 
 wood sighed. "But whatever does one do in the 
 meanwhile?" 
 
 "One just waits. Yassah, one and all waits." 
 
 "It's ghahstly, that's what it is, ghahstly." 
 
 "Yassah," said the porter, and mumbled as he 
 walked away, "but the weather is gettin' cooler." 
 
 He finished preparing Marjorie's bunk, and was 
 just suggesting that Mallory retreat to the smoking 
 room while number three was made up, when there 
 was a commotion in the corridor, and a man in 
 checked overalls dashed into the car. 
 
 His ear was slightly red, and he held at arm's 
 length, as if it were a venomous monster, Snoozle- 
 ums. And he yelled: 
 
 "Say, whose durn dog is this? He bit two men, 
 and he makes so much noise we can't sleep in the bag- 
 gage car."
 
 GOOD NIGHT, ALL! 117 
 
 Marjorie went flying down the aisle to reclaim her 
 1 jst lamb in wolf's clothing, and Snoozleums, the 
 returned prodigal, yelped and leaped, and told her 
 all about the indignities he had been subjected to, 
 and his valiant struggle for liberty. 
 
 Marjorie, seeing only Snoozleums, stepped into 
 the fatal berth number one, and paid no heed to the 
 dangling ribbons. Mallory, eager to restore himself 
 to her love by loving her dog, crowded closer to 
 her side, making a hypocritical ado over the pup. 
 
 Everybody was popping his or her face out to 
 learn the cause of such clamor. Among the bodi- 
 less heads suspended along the curtains, like Dyak 
 trophies, appeared the great mask of Little Jimmie 
 Wellington. He had been unable to sleep for 
 mourning the wanton waste of that lovely rice-trap. 
 
 When he peered forth, his eyes hardly believed 
 themselves. The elusive bride and groom were actu- 
 ally in the trap the hen pheasant and the chanti- 
 cleer. But the net did not fall. He waited to see 
 them sit down, and spring the infernal machine. But 
 they would not sit. 
 
 In fact, Marjorie was muttering to Harry ten- 
 derly, now, since he had won her back by his efforts 
 to console Snoozleums she was muttering tenderly : 
 
 "We must not be seen together, honey. Go away, 
 I'll see you in the morning." 
 
 And Mallory was saying with bitterest resigna- 
 tion: "Good night my friend."
 
 118 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 And they were shaking hands! This incredible 
 bridal couple was shaking hands with itself disin- 
 tegrating! Then Wellington determined to do at 
 least his duty by the sacred rites. 
 
 The gaping passengers saw what was probably 
 the largest pair of pyjamas in Chicago. They saw 
 Little Jimmie, smothering back his giggles like a 
 schoolboy, tiptoe from his berth, enter the next 
 berth, brushing the porter aside, climb on the seat, 
 and clutch the ribbon that pulled the stopper from 
 the trap. 
 
 Down upon the unsuspecting elopers came this 
 miraculous cloudburst of ironical rice, and with it 
 came Little Jimmie Wellington, who lost what lit- 
 tle balance he had, and catapulted into their midst 
 like the offspring of an iceberg. 
 
 It was at this moment that Mrs. Wellington, 
 hearing the loud cries of the panic-stricken Marjorie, 
 rushed from the Women's Room, absent-mindedly 
 combing a totally detached section of her hair. She 
 recognized familiar pyjamas waving in air, and with 
 one faint gasp: "Jimmie! on this train!" she 
 swooned away. She would have fallen, but seeing 
 that no one paid any attention to her, she recovered 
 consciousness on her own hook, and vanished into 
 her berth, to meditate on the whys and wherefores of 
 her husband's presence in this car. 
 
 Dr. Temple in a nightgown and trousers, Roger 
 Ashton in a collarless estate, and the porter, man-
 
 DOWN UPON THE UNSUSPECTING ELOPERS CAME THIS MIRACULOUS 
 CLOUDBURST OF IRONICAL RICE
 
 GOOD NIGHT, ALL! 119 
 
 aged to extricate Mr. Wellington from his plight, 
 and stow him away, though it was like putting a 
 whale to bed. 
 
 Mallory, seeing that Marjorie had fled, vented 
 his wild rage against fate in general, and rice traps 
 in particular, by tearing the bridal bungalow to 
 pieces, and then he stalked into the smoking room, 
 where Ira Lathrop, homeless and dispossessed, was 
 sound asleep, with his feet in the chair. 
 
 He was dreaming that he was a boy in Brattle- 
 boro, the worst boy in Brattleboro, trying to get up 
 the courage to spark pretty Anne Gattle, and throw- 
 ing rocks at the best boy in town, Charlie Selby, who 
 was always at her side. The porter woke Ira, an 
 hour later, and escorted him to the late bridal 
 section. 
 
 Marjorie had fled with her dog, as soon as she 
 could grope her way through the deluge of rice. 
 She hopped into her berth, and spent an hour trying 
 to clear her hair of the multitudinous grains. And 
 as for Snoozleums, his thick wool was so be-riced 
 that for two days, whenever he shook himself, he 
 snew. 
 
 Eventually, the car quieted, and nothing was 
 heard but the rumble and click of the wheels on 
 the rails, the creak of timbers, and the frog-like 
 chorus of a few well-trained snorers. As the por- 
 ter was turning down the last of the lights, a rumpled
 
 120 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 pate was thrust from the stateroom, and the luscious- 
 eyed man whispered: 
 
 "Porter, what time did you say we crossed the 
 Iowa State line?" 
 
 "Two fifty-five A. M." 
 
 From within the stateroom came a deep sigh, then 
 with a dismal groan: "Call me at two fifty-five 
 A. M.," the door was closed. 
 
 Poor Mallory, pyjamaless and night-shirtless, lay 
 propped up on his pillows, staring out of the window 
 at the swiftly shifting night scene. The State of 
 Illinois was being pulled out from under the train 
 like a dark rug. 
 
 Farmhouses gleamed or dreamed lampless. The 
 moonlight rippled on endless seas of wheat and 
 Indian corn. Little towns slid up and away. Large 
 towns rolled forward, and were left behind. Ponds, 
 marshes, brooks, pastures, thickets and great gloomy 
 groves flowed past as on a river. But the same 
 stars and the moon seemed to accompany the train. 
 If the flying witness had been less heavy of heart, he 
 would have found the reeling scene full of grace and 
 night beauty. But he could not see any charm in all 
 the world, except his tantalizing other self, from 
 whom a great chasm seemed to divide him, though 
 she was only two windows away. 
 
 He had not yet fallen asleep, and he was still pon- 
 dering how to attain his unmarried, unmarriable 
 bride, when the train rolled out in air above a great
 
 GOOD NIGHT, ALL! 121 
 
 wide river, very noble under the stars. He knew 
 it for the Mississippi. He heard a faint knocking 
 on a door at the other end of the car. He heard 
 sounds as of kisses, and then somebody tiptoed 
 along the aisle stealthily. He did not know that 
 another bridegroom was being separated from his 
 bride because they were too much married. 
 Somewhere in Iowa he fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 LAST CALL FOR BREAKFAST 
 
 IT was still Iowa when Mallory awoke. Into his 
 last moments of heavy sleep intruded a voice like a 
 town-crier's voice, crying : 
 
 "Lass call for breakfuss in the Rining Rar," and 
 then, again louder, "Lass call for breakfuss in Rinin- 
 rar," and, finally and faintly, "Lasscall breakfuss 
 
 ri'rar." 
 
 Mallory pushed up his window shade. The day 
 was broad on rolling prairies like billows established 
 in the green soil. He peeked through his curtains. 
 Most of the other passengers were up and about, 
 their beds hidden and beddings stowed away behind 
 the bellying veneer of the upperworks of the car. 
 All the berths were made up except his own and 
 number two, in the corner, where Little Jimmie Wel- 
 lington's nose still played a bagpipe monody, and one 
 other berth, which he recognized as Marjorie's. 
 
 His belated sleep and hers had spared them both 
 the stares and laughing chatter of the passengers. 
 But this bridal couple's two berths, standing like 
 towers among the seats had provided conversation 
 
 122
 
 LAST CALL FOR BREAKFAST 123 
 
 for everybody, had already united the casual group 
 of strangers into an organized gossip-bee. 
 
 Mallory got into his shoes and as much of his 
 clothes as was necessary for the dash to the wash- 
 room, and took on his arm the rest of his wardrobe. 
 Just as he issued from his lonely chamber, Mar- 
 jorie appeared from hers, much disheveled and 
 heavy-eyed. The bride and groom exchanged 
 glances of mutual terror, and hurried in opposite 
 directions. 
 
 The spickest and spannest of lieutenants soon real- 
 ized that he was reduced to wearing yesterday's linen 
 as well as yesterday's beard. This was intolerable. 
 A brave man can endure heartbreaks, loss of love, 
 honor and place, but a neat man cannot abide the 
 traces of time in his toilet. Lieutenant Mallory had 
 seen rough service in camp and on long hikes, when 
 he gloried in mud and disorder, and he was to see 
 campaigns in the Philippines, when he should not 
 take off his shoes or his uniform for three days at 
 a time. But that was the field, and this car was 
 a drawing room. 
 
 In this crisis in his affairs, Little Jimmie Welling- 
 ton waddled into the men's room, floundering about 
 with every lurch of the train, like a cannon loose in 
 the hold of a ship. He fumbled with the handles 
 on a basin, and made a crazy toilet, trying to find 
 some abatement of his fever by filling a glass at the 
 ice-water tank and emptying it over his head.
 
 124 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 These drastic measures restored him to some sort 
 of coherency, and Mallory appealed to him for help 
 in the matter of linen. Wellington effusively offered 
 him everything he had, and Mallory selected from 
 his store half a dozen collars, any one of which 
 would have gone round his neck nearly twice. 
 
 Wellington also proffered his safety razor, and 
 made him a present of a virgin wafer of steel for 
 his very own. 
 
 With this assistance, Mallory was enabled to 
 make himself fairly presentable. When he returned 
 to his seat, the three curtained rooms had been 
 whisked away by the porter. There was no place 
 now to hide from the passengers. 
 
 He sat down facing the feminine end of the car, 
 watching for Marjorie. The passengers were watch- 
 ing for her, too, hoping to learn what unheard-of 
 incident could have provoked the quarrel that sep- 
 arated a bride and groom at this time, of all times. 
 
 To the general bewilderment, when Marjorie 
 appeared, Mallory and she rushed together and 
 clasped hands with an ardor that suggested a desire 
 for even more ardent greeting. The passengers al- 
 most sprained their ears to hear how they would 
 make up such a dreadful feud. But all they heard 
 was: "We'll have to hurry, Marjorie, if we want 
 to get any breakfast." 
 
 "All right, honey. Come along." 
 
 Then the inscrutable couple scurried up the aisle,
 
 LAST CALL FOR BREAKFAST 125 
 
 and disappeared in the corridor, leaving behind them 
 a mighty riddle. They kissed in the corridor of that 
 car, kissed in the vestibule, kissed in the two corri- 
 dors of the next car, and were caught kissing in the 
 next vestibule by the new conductor. 
 
 The dining car conductor, who flattered himself 
 that he knew a bride and groom when he saw them, 
 escorted them grandly to a table for two; and the 
 waiter fluttered about them with extraordinary con- 
 sideration. 
 
 They had a plenty to talk of in prospect and retro- 
 spect. They both felt sure that a minister lurked 
 among the cars somewhere, and they ate with a 
 zest to prepare for the ceremony, arguing the best 
 place for it, and quarreling amorously over details. 
 Mallory was for one of the vestibules as the scene 
 of their union, but Marjorie was for the baggage 
 car, till she realized that Snoozleums might be unwil- 
 ling to. attend. Then she swung round to the vesti- 
 bule, but Mallory shifted to the observation plat- 
 form. 
 
 Marjorie had left Snoozleums with Mrs. Temple, 
 who promised to hide him when the new conductor 
 passed through the car, and she reminded Harry 
 to get the waiter to bring them a package of bones 
 for their only "child," so far. 
 
 On the way back from the dining car they kissed 
 each other good-bye again at all the trysting places 
 they had sanctified before. The sun was radiant, the
 
 126 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 world good, and the very train ran with jubilant 
 rejoicing. They could not doubt that a few more 
 hours would see them legally man and wife. 
 
 Mallo'y restored Marjorie to her place in their 
 car, and with smiles of assurance, left her for an- 
 other parson-hunt through the train. She waited 
 for him in a bridal agitation. He ransacked the 
 train forward in vain, and returned, passing Mar- 
 jorie with a shake of the head and a dour counte- 
 nance. He went out to the observation platform, 
 where he stumbled on Ira Lathrop and Anne Gat- 
 tie, engaged in a conversation of evident intimacy, 
 for they jumped when he opened the door, as if they 
 were guilty of some plot. 
 
 Mallory mumbled his usual, "Excuse me," 
 whirled on his heel, and dragged his discouraged 
 steps back through the Observation Room, where 
 various women and a few men of evident unclerical- 
 ity were draped across arm chairs and absorbed in 
 lazy conversation or bobbing their heads over maga- 
 zines that trembled with the motion of the train. 
 
 Mrs. Wellington was busily writing at the desk, 
 but he did not know who she was, and he did not 
 care whom she was writing to. He did not observe 
 the baleful glare of Mrs. Whitcomb, who sat watch- 
 ing Mrs. Wellington, knowing all too well who she 
 was, and suspecting the correspondent Mrs. Whit- 
 comb was tempted to spell the word with one "r." 
 
 Mallory stumbled into the men's portion of the
 
 LAST CALL FOR BREAKFAST 127 
 
 composite car. Here he nodded with a sickly cheer 
 to the sole occupant, Dr. Temple, who was looking 
 less ministerial than ever in an embroidered skull 
 cap. The old rascal was sitting far back on his lum- 
 bar vertebras. One of his hands clasped a long glass 
 filled with a liquid of a hue that resembled something 
 stronger than what it was mere ginger ale. The 
 other hand toyed with a long black cigar. The 
 smoke curled round the old man's head like the 
 fumes of a sultan's narghile, and through the wisps 
 his face was one of Oriental luxury. 
 
 Mallory's eyes were caught from this picture of 
 beatitude by the entrance, at the other door, of a 
 man who had evidently swung aboard at the most 
 recent stop for Mallory had not seen him. His 
 gray hair was crowned with a soft black hat, and 
 his spare frame was swathed in a frock coat that 
 had seen better days. His soft gray eyes seemed 
 to search timidly the smoke-clouded atmosphere, and 
 he had a bashful air which Mallory translated as 
 one of diffidence in a place where liquors and cigars 
 were dispensed. 
 
 With equal diffidence Mallory advanced, and in 
 a low tone accosted the newcomer cautiously: 
 
 "Excuse me you look like a clergyman. " 
 
 "The hell you say!" 
 
 Mallory pursued the question no further.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IN THE COMPOSITE CAR 
 
 IT was the gentle stranger's turn to miss his guess. 
 He bent over the chair into which Mallory had 
 flopped, and said in a tense, low tone: "You look 
 like a thoroughbred sport. I'm trying to make up 
 a game of stud poker. Will you join me?" 
 
 Mallory shook his heavy head in refusal, and with 
 dull eyes watched the man, whose profession he no 
 longer misunderstood, saunter up to the blissful Doc- 
 tor from Ypsilanti, and murmur again: 
 
 "Will you join me?" 
 
 "Join you in what, sir?" said Dr. Temple, with 
 alert courtesy. 
 
 "A little game." 
 
 "I don't mind," the doctor smiled, rising with 
 amiable readiness. "The checkers are in the next 
 room." 
 
 "Quit your kiddin'," the stranger coughed. "How 
 about a little freeze-out?" 
 
 "Freeze-out?" said Dr. Temple. "It sounds in- 
 teresting. Is it something like authors?" 
 
 The newcomer shot a quick glance at this man, 
 whose innocent air he suspected. But he merely 
 drawled: "Well, you play it with cards." 
 
 128
 
 IN THE COMPOSITE CAR 129 
 
 "Would you mind teaching me the rules?" said 
 the old sport from Ypsilanti. 
 
 The gambler was growing suspicious of this too, 
 too childlike innocence. He whined: "Say, what's 
 your little game, eh?" but decided to risk the ven- 
 ture. He sat down at a table, and Dr. Temple, 
 bringing along his glass, drew up a chair. The 
 gambler took a pack of cards from his pocket, and 
 shuffled them with a snap that startled Dr. Temple 
 and a dexterity that delighted him. 
 
 "Go on, it's beautiful to see," he exclaimed. The 
 gambler set the pack down with the one word "Cut !" 
 but since the old man made no effort to comply, the 
 gambler did not insist. He took up the pack again 
 and ran off five cards to each place with a grace 
 that staggered the doctor. 
 
 Mallory was about to intervene for the protection 
 of the guileless physician when the conductor 
 chanced to saunter in. 
 
 The gambler, seeing him, snatched Dr. Temple's 
 cards from his hand and slipped the pack into his 
 pocket. 
 
 "What's the matter now?" Dr. Temple asked, but 
 the newcomer huskily answered: "Wait a minute. 
 Wait a minute." 
 
 The conductor took in the scene at a glance and, 
 stalking up to the table, spoke with the grimness of 
 a sea-captain: "Say, I've got my eye on you. Don't 
 start nothin 1 ."
 
 130 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 The stranger stared at him wonderingly and de- 
 manded: "Why, what you drivin' at?" 
 
 "You know all right," the conductor growled, and 
 then turned on the befuddled old clergyman, "and 
 you, too." 
 
 "Me, too?" the preacher gasped. 
 
 "Yes, you, too," the conductor repeated, shaking 
 an accusing forefinger under his nose. "Your ac- 
 tions have been suspicious from the beginning. 
 We've all been watching you." 
 
 Dr. Temple was so agitated that he nearly let 
 fall his secret. "Why, do you realize that I'm 
 
 "Ah, don't start that," sneered the conductor, "I 
 can spot a gambler as far as I can see one. You 
 and your side partner here want to look out, that's 
 all, or I'll drop you at the next tank." Then he 
 walked out, his very shoulder blades uttering 
 threats. 
 
 Dr. Temple stared after him, but the gambler 
 stared at Dr. Temple with a mingling of accusation 
 and of homage. "So you're one of us," he said, and 
 seizing the old man's limp hand, shook it heartily: "I 
 got to slip it to you. Your make-up is great. You 
 nearly had me for a come-on. Great!" 
 
 And then he sauntered out, leaving the clergy- 
 man's head swimming. Dr. Temple turned to Mai- 
 lory for explanations, but Mallory only waved him 
 away. He was not quite convinced himself. He
 
 IN THE COMPOSITE CAR 131 
 
 was convinced only that whatever else anybody 
 might be, nobody apparently desired to be a clergy- 
 man in these degenerate days. 
 
 The conductor returned and threw into Dr. 
 Temple the glare of two basilisk eyes. The old man 
 put out a beseeching hand and began: 
 
 "My good man, you do me a grave injustice." 
 
 The conductor snapped back: "You say a word 
 to me and I'll do you worse than that. And if I 
 spot you with a pack of cards in your hand again, 
 I'll tie you to the cow-ketcher." 
 
 Then he marched off again. The doctor fell back 
 into a chair, trying to figure it out. Then Ashton 
 and Fosdick and little Jimmie Wellington and 
 Wedgewood strolled in and, dropping into chairs, 
 ordered drinks. Before the doctor could ask any- 
 body to explain, Aahton was launched on a story. 
 Kis mind was a suitcase full of anecdotes, mostly 
 of the smoking-room order. 
 
 Wherever three or four men are gathered to- 
 gether, they rapidly organize a clearing-house of 
 off-color stories. The doctor listened in spite of 
 himself, and in spite of himself he was amused, for 
 stories that would be stupid if they were decent, take 
 on a certain verve and thrill from their very for- 
 biddenness. 
 
 The dear old clergyman felt that it would be 
 priggish to take flight, but he could not make the 
 corners of his mouth behave. Strange twitchings
 
 132 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 of the lips and little steamy escapes of giggle-jets 
 disturbed him. And when Ashton, who was a prac- 
 ticed raconteur, finished a drolatic adventure with 
 the epilogue, "And the next morning they were at 
 Niagara Falls," the old doctor was helpless with 
 laughter. Some superior force, a devil no doubt, 
 fairly shook him with glee. 
 
 "Oh, that's bully," he shrieked, "I haven't heard 
 a story like that for ages." 
 
 "Why, where have you been, Dr. Temple?" asked 
 Ashton, who could not imagine where a man could 
 have concealed himself from such stories. But he 
 laughed loudest of all when the doctor answered: 
 "You see, I live in Ypsilanti. They don't tell me 
 stories like that." 
 
 "They who?" said Fosdick. 
 
 "Why, my pa my patients," the doctor explained, 
 and laughed so hard that he forgot to feel guilty, 
 laughed so hard that his wife in the next room 
 heard him and giggled to Mrs. Whitcomb: 
 
 "Listen to dear Walter. He hasn't laughed like 
 that since he was a a medical student." Then she 
 buried her face guiltily in a book. 
 
 "Wasn't it good?" Dr. Temple demanded, wiping 
 his streaming eyes and nudging the solemn-faced 
 Englishman, who understood his own nation's hu- 
 mor, but had not yet learned the Yankee quirks. 
 
 Wedgewood made a hollow effort at laughter and 
 answered: "Extremely very droll, but what I
 
 IN THE COMPOSITE CAR 133 
 
 don't quite get was why the porter said " The 
 
 others drowned him in a roar of laughter, but Ash- 
 ton was angry. "Why, you blamed fool, that's 
 where the joke came in. Don't you see, the bride- 
 groom said to the bride " then he lowered his 
 
 voice and diagrammed the story on his fingers. 
 
 Mrs. Temple was still shaking with sympathetic 
 laughter, never dreaming what her husband was 
 laughing at. She turned to Mrs. Whitcomb, but 
 Mrs. Whitcomb was still glaring at Mrs. Welling- 
 ton, who was still writing with flying fingers and 
 underscoring every other word. 
 
 "Some people seem to think they own the train," 
 Mrs. Whitcomb raged. "That creature has been at 
 the writing desk an hour. The worst of it is, I'm 
 sure she's writing to my husband." 
 
 Mrs. Temple looked shocked, but another peal 
 of laughter came through the partition between the 
 male and female sections of the car, and she beamed 
 again. Then Mrs. Wellington finished her letter, 
 glanced it over, addressed an envelope, sealed and 
 stamped it with a deliberation that maddened Mrs. 
 Whitcomb. When at last she rose, Mrs. Whitcomb 
 was in the seat almost before Mrs. Wellington was 
 out of it. 
 
 Mrs. Wellington paused at another wave of 
 laughter from the men's room. She commented 
 petulantly: 
 
 "What good times men have. They've formed
 
 134 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 a club in there already. We women can only sit 
 around and hate each other." 
 
 "Why, I don't hate anybody, do you?" Mrs. 
 Temple exclaimed, looking up from the novel she 
 had found on the book shelves. Mrs. Wellington 
 dropped into the next chair: 
 
 "On a long railroad journey I hate everybody. 
 Don't you hate long journeys?" 
 
 "It's the first I ever took," Mrs. Temple apolo- 
 gized, radiantly, "And I'm having the what my 
 oldest boy would call the time of my life. And 
 dear Walter such goings on for him ! A few min- 
 utes ago I strolled by the door and I saw him play- 
 ing cards with a stranger, and smoking and drink- 
 ing, too, all at once." 
 
 "Boys will be boys," said Mrs. Wellington. 
 
 "But for Dr. Temple of all people " 
 
 "Why shouldn't a doctor? It's a shame the way 
 men have everything. Think of it, a special smok- 
 ing room. And women have no place to take a puf 
 except on the sly." 
 
 Mrs. Temple stared at her in awe: "The woman 
 in this book smokes! perfumed things!" 
 
 "All women smoke nowadays," said Mrs. Wel- 
 lington, carelessly. "Don't you?" 
 
 The politest thing Mrs. Temple could think of 
 in answer was : "Not yet." 
 
 "Really!" said Mrs. Wellington, "Don't you like 
 tobacco ?"
 
 IN THE COMPOSITE CAR 13* 
 
 "I never tried it." 
 
 "It's time you did. I smoke cigars myself." 
 
 Mrs. Temple almost collapsed at this double 
 shock: "Ci cigars?" 
 
 "Yes; cigarettes are too strong for me; will you 
 try one of my pets?" 
 
 Mrs. Temple was about to express her repugnance 
 at the thought, but Mrs. Wellington thrust before 
 her a portfolio in which nestled such dainty shapes 
 of such a warm and winsome brown, that Mrs. 
 Temple paused to stare, and, like Mother Eve, 
 found the fruit of knowledge too interesting once 
 seen to reject with scorn. She hung over the cigar 
 case in hesitant excitement one moment too long. 
 Then she said in a trembling voice: "I I should 
 like to try once just to see what it's like. But 
 there's no place." 
 
 Mrs. Wellington felt that she had already made 
 a proselyte to her own beloved vice, and she rushed 
 her victim to the precipice: "There's the observa- 
 tion platform, my dear. Come on out." 
 
 Mrs. Temple was shivering with dismay at the 
 dreadful deed: "What would they say in Ypsi- 
 lanti?" 
 
 "What do you care? Be a sport. Your husband 
 smokes. If it's right for him, why not for you?" 
 
 Mrs. Temple set her teeth and crossed the Rubi- 
 con with a resolute "I will !" 
 
 Mrs. Wellington led the timid neophyte along
 
 136 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 the wavering floor of the car and flung back the door 
 of the observation car. She found Ira Lathrop 
 holding Anne Cattle's hand and evidently explain- 
 ing something of great importance, for their heads 
 were 'close together. They rose and with abashed 
 faces and confused mumblings of half swallowed 
 explanations, left the platform to Mrs. Wellington 
 and her new pupil. 
 
 Shortly afterward Little Jimmie Wellington grew 
 restive and set out for a brief constitutional and a 
 breath of air. He carried a siphon to which he had 
 become greatly attached, and made heavy going of 
 the observation room, but reached the door in 
 fairly good order. He swung it open and brought 
 in with it the pale and wavering ghost of Mrs. 
 Temple, who had been leaning against it for much- 
 needed support. Wellington was stupefied to ob- 
 serve smoke pouring round Mrs. Temple's form, 
 and he resolved to perform a great life-saving feat. 
 He decided that the poor little woman was on fire 
 and he poised the siphon like a fire extinguisher, 
 with the noble intention of putting her out. 
 
 He pressed the handle, and a stream of vichy shot 
 from the nozzle. 
 
 Fortunately, his aim was so very wobbly that none 
 of the extinguisher touched Mrs. Temple. 
 
 Wellington was about to play the siphon at her 
 again when he saw her take from her lips a toy 
 cigar and emit a stream of cough-shaken smoke.
 
 IN THE COMPOSITE CAR 137 
 
 The poor little experimentalist was too wretched to 
 notice even so large a menace as Wellington. She 
 threw the cigar away and gasped: 
 
 "I think I've had enough." 
 
 From the platform came a voice verv well known 
 to Little Jimmie. It said: "You'll like the second 
 one better." 
 
 Mrs. Temple shuddered at the thought, but Wel- 
 lington drew himself up majestically and called 
 out: 
 
 "Like second one better, eh? I suppozhe it's the 
 same way with husbandsh." 
 
 Then he stalked back to the smoking room, feel- 
 ing that he had annihilated his wife, but knowing 
 from experience that she always had a come-back. 
 He knew it would be good, but he was afraid to 
 hear it. He rolled into the smoking room, and 
 sprawling across Doctor Temple's shoulders, 
 dragged him from the midst of a highly improper 
 story with alarming news. 
 
 "Doc., your wife looks kind o' seedy. Better go 
 to her at once." 
 
 Dr. Temple leaped to his feet and ran to his 
 wife's aid. He found her a dismal, ashen sight. 
 
 "Sally! What on earth ails you?" 
 
 "Been smok-oking," she hiccoughed. 
 
 The world seemed to be crashing round Dr. 
 Temple's head. He could only gurgle, "Sally!" 
 
 Mrs. Temple drew herself up with weak defi-
 
 138 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 ance: "Well, I saw you playing cards and drink- 
 
 ing." 
 
 In the presence of such innocent deviltry he could 
 only smile: "Aren't we having an exciting vaca- 
 tion? But to think of you smoking! and a cigar!" 
 . She tossed her head in pride. "And it didn't 
 make me sick much." She clutched a chair. He 
 tried to support her. He could not help pondering: 
 "What would they say in Yp-hip-silanti ?" 
 
 "Who cares?" she laughed. "I I wish the old 
 train wouldn't rock so." 
 
 "I I've smoked too much, too," said Dr. Temple 
 with perfect truth, but Mrs. Temple, remembering 
 that long glass she had seen, narrowed her eyes at 
 him: "Are you sure it was the smoke?" 
 
 "Sally!" he cried, in abject horror at her implied 
 suspicion. 
 
 Then she turned a pale green. "Oh, I feel such 
 a qualm." 
 
 "In your conscience, Sally?" 
 
 "No, not in my conscience. I think I'll go back 
 to my berth and lie down." 
 
 "Let me help you, Mother." 
 
 And Darby and Joan hurried along the corridor, 
 crowding it as they were crowding their vacation 
 with belated experience.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 FOILED! 
 
 IT was late in the forenoon before the train came 
 to the end of its iron furrow across that fertile 
 space between two of the world's greatest rivers, 
 which the Indians called "Iowa," nobody knows ex- 
 actly why. In contrast with the palisades of the 
 Mississippi, the Missouri twists like a great brown 
 dragon wallowing in congenial mud. The water it- 
 self, as Bob Brudette said, is so muddy that the 
 wind blowing across it raises a cloud of dust. 
 
 A sonorous bridge led the way into Nebraska, 
 and the train came to a halt at Omaha. Mallory 
 and Marjorie got out to stretch their legs and their 
 dog. If they had only known that the train was 
 to stop there the quarter of an hour, and if they 
 had only known some preacher there and had had 
 him to the station, the ceremony could have been 
 consummated then and there. 
 
 The horizon was fairly saw-toothed with church 
 spires. There were preachers, preachers every- 
 where, and not a dominie to do their deed. 
 
 After they had strolled up and down the platform, 
 139
 
 140 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 and up and down, and up and down till they were 
 fain of their cramped quarters again, Marjorie sud- 
 denly dug her nails into Mallory's arm. 
 
 "Honey! look! look!" 
 
 Honey looked, and there before their very eyes 
 stood as clerical a looking person as ever announced 
 a strawberry festival. 
 
 Mallory stared and stared, till Marjorie said: 
 
 "Don't you see? stupid! it's a preacher! a 
 preacher!" 
 
 "It looks like one," was as far as Mallory would 
 commit himself, and he was turning away. He 
 had about come to the belief that anything that 
 looked like a parson was something else. But Mar- 
 jorie whirled him round again, with a shrill whisper 
 to listen. And he overheard in tones addicted to 
 the pulpit: 
 
 "Yes, deacon, I trust that the harvest will be 
 plentiful at my new church. It grieves me to leave 
 the dear brothers and sisters in the Lord in Omaha, 
 but I felt called to wider pastures." 
 
 And a lady who was evidently Mrs. Deacon 
 spoke up: 
 
 "We'll miss you terrible. We all say you are the 
 best pastor our church ever had." 
 
 Mallory prepared to spring on his prey and drag 
 him to his lair, but Marjorie held him back. 
 
 "He's taking our train, Lord bless his dear old 
 soul."
 
 FOILED! 141 
 
 And Mallory could have hugged him. But he 
 kept close watch. To the rapture of the wedding- 
 hungry twain, the preacher shook hands with such 
 of his flock as had followed him to the station, 
 picked up his valise and walked up to the porter, 
 extending his ticket. 
 
 But the porter said and Mallory could have 
 throttled him for saying it: 
 
 " 'Scuse me, posson, but that's yo' train ova 
 yonda. You betta move right smaht, for it's gettin' 
 ready to pull out." 
 
 With a little shriek of dismay, the parson clutched 
 his valise and set off at a run. Mallory dashed after 
 him and Marjorie after Mallory. They shouted as 
 they ran, but the conductor of the east-bound train 
 sang out "All aboard!" and swung on. 
 
 The parson made a sprint and caught the ultimate 
 rail of the moving train. Mallory made a frantic 
 leap at a flying coat-tail and missed. As he and 
 Marjorie stood gazing reproachfully at the train 
 which was giving a beautiful illustration of the laws 
 of retreating perspective, they heard wild howls of 
 "Hi! hi!" and "Hay! hay!" and turned to see their 
 own train in motion, and the porter dancing a Zulu 
 step alongside.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 FOILED AGAIN 
 
 MALLORY tucked Marjorie under his arm and 
 IWarjorie tucked Snoozleums under hers, and they did 
 a sort of three-legged race down the platform. The 
 porter was pale blue with excitement, and it was 
 with the last gasp of breath in all three bodies that 
 they scrambled up the steps of the only open vesti- 
 bule. 
 
 The porter was mad enough to give them a piece 
 of his mind, and they were meek enough to take 
 it without a word of explanation or resentment. 
 
 And the train sped on into the heart of Nebraska, 
 along the unpoetic valley of the Platte. When lunch- 
 time came, they ate it together, but in gloomy silence. 
 They sat in Marjorie's berth throughout the appal- 
 lingly monotonous afternoon in a stupor of disap- 
 pointment and helpless dejection, speaking little and 
 saying nothing then. 
 
 Whenever the train stopped, Mallory watched the 
 on-getting passengers with his keenest eye. He had 
 a theory that since most people who looked like 
 preachers were decidedly lay, it might be well to take 
 
 142
 
 FOILED AGAIN! 143 
 
 a gambler's chance and accost the least ministerial 
 person next. 
 
 So, in his frantic anxiety, he selected a horsey- 
 looking individual who got on at North Platte. He 
 looked so much like a rawhided ranchman that Mai- 
 lory stole up on him and asked him to excuse him, 
 but did he happen to be a clergyman? The man 
 replied by asking Mallory if he happened to be a 
 flea-bitten maverick, and embellished his question 
 with a copious flow of the words ministers use, but 
 with a secular arrangement of them. In fact he 
 split one word in two to insert a double-barrelled 
 curse. All that Mallory could do was to admit 
 that he was a flea-bitten what-he-said, and back 
 away. 
 
 After that, if a vicar in full uniform had marched 
 down the aisle heading a procession of choir-boys, 
 Mallory would have suspected him. He vowed in 
 his haste that Marjorie might die an old maid be- 
 fore he would approach anybody else on that sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Nebraska would have been a nice long state for a 
 honeymoon, but its four hundred-odd miles were 
 a dreary length for the couple so near and yet so 
 far. The railroad clinging to the meandering Platte 
 made the way far longer, and Mallory and Marjorie 
 felt like Pyramus and Thisbe wandering along an 
 eternal wall, through which they could see, but not 
 reach, one another.
 
 144 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 They dined together as dolefully as if they had 
 been married for forty years. Then the slow twi- 
 light soaked them in its melancholy. The porter 
 lighted up the car, and the angels lighted up the 
 stars, but nothing lighted up their hopes. 
 
 "We've got to quarrel again, my beloved," Mai- 
 lory groaned to Marjorie. 
 
 Somehow they were too dreary even to nag one 
 another with an outburst for the benefit of the eager- 
 eyed passengers. 
 
 A little excitement bestirred them as they realized 
 that they were confronted with another night-robe- 
 less night and a morrow without change of gear. 
 
 "What a pity that we left our things in the taxi- 
 cab," Marjorie sighed. And this time she said, "we 
 left them," instead of "you left them." It was 
 very gracious of her, but Mallory did not acknowl- 
 edge the courtesy. Instead he gave a start and a 
 gasp: 
 
 "Good Lord, Marjorie, we never paid the second 
 taxicab !" 
 
 "Great heavens, how shall we ever pay him? He's 
 been waiting there twenty-four hours. How much 
 do you suppose we owe him?" 
 
 "About a year of my pay, I guess." 
 
 "You must send him a telegram of apology and 
 ask him to read his meter. He was such a nice man 
 the kindest eyes for a chauffeur." 
 
 "But how can I telegraph him? I don't know
 
 FOILED AGAIN! 145 
 
 his name, or his number, or his company, or any- 
 thing." 
 
 "It's too bad. He'll go through life hating us 
 and thinking we cheated him." 
 
 "Well, he doesn't know our names either." 
 
 And then they forgot him temporarily for the 
 more immediate need of clothes. All the passengers 
 knew that they had left behind what baggage they 
 had not sent ahead, and much sympathy had been 
 expressed. But most people would rather give you 
 their sympathy than lend you their clothes. Mallory 
 did not mind the men, but Marjorie dreaded the 
 women. She was afraid of all of them but Mrs. 
 Temple. 
 
 She threw herself on the little lady's mercy and 
 was asked to help herself. She borrowed a night- 
 gown of extraordinary simplicity, a shirt waist of an 
 ancient mode, and a number of other things. 
 
 If there had been anyone there to see she would 
 have made a most anachronistic bride. 
 
 Mallory canvassed the men and obtained a shock- 
 ingly purple shirt from Wedgewood, who meant to 
 put him at his ease, but somehow failed when he 
 said in answer to Mallory's thanks : 
 
 "God bless my soul, old top, don't you think of 
 thanking me. I ought to thank you. You see, the 
 idiot who makes my shirts, made that by mistake, 
 and IM be no end grateful if you'd jolly well take 
 the loathsome thing off my hands. I mean to say,
 
 146 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 I shouldn't dream of being seen in it myself. You 
 quite understand, don't you?" 
 
 Ashton contributed a maroon atrocity in hosiery, 
 with equal tact: 
 
 "If they fit you, keep 'em. I got stung on that 
 batch of socks. That pair was originally lavender, 
 but they washed like that. Keep 'em. I wouldn't 
 be found dead in 'em." 
 
 The mysterious Fosdick, who lived a lonely life 
 in the Observation car and slept in the other sleeper, 
 lent Mallory a pair of pyjamas evidently intended 
 for a bridegroom of romantic disposition. Mallory 
 blushed as he accepted them and when he found 
 himself in them, he whisked out the light, he was 
 so ashamed of himself. 
 
 Once more the whole car gaped at the unheard of 
 behavior of its newly wedded pair. The poor porter 
 had been hungry for a bridal couple, but as he went 
 about gathering up the cast-off footwear of his large 
 family and found Mallory's big shoes at number 
 three and Marjorie's tiny boots at number five, he 
 shook his head and groaned. 
 
 "Times has suttainly changed for the wuss. If 
 this is a bridal couple, gimme divorcees."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 MATRIMONY TO AND FRO 
 
 AND the next morning they were in Wyoming 
 well toward the center of that State. They had 
 left behind the tame levels and the truly rural towns 
 and they were among foothills and mountains, pass- 
 ing cities of wildly picturesque repute, like Chey- 
 enne, and Laramie, Bowie, and Medicine Bow, and 
 Bitter Creek, whose very names imply literature and 
 war whoops, cow-boy yelps, barking revolvers, an- 
 other redskin biting the dust, cattle stampedes, town- 
 paintings, humorous lynchings and bronchos in epi- 
 leptic frenzy. 
 
 But the talk of this train was concerned with none 
 of these wonders, which the novelists and the maga- 
 zinist have perhaps a trifle overpublished. The talk 
 of this train was concerned with the eighth wonder 
 of the world, a semi-detached bridal couple. 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb was eager enough to voice the 
 sentiment of the whole populace, when she looked 
 up from her novel in the observation room and, 
 nudging Mrs. Temple, drawled: "By the way, my 
 dear, has that bridal couple made up its second 
 night's quarrel yet?" 
 
 147
 
 148 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "The Mallorys?" Mrs. Temple flushed as she 
 answered, mercifully. "Oh, yes, they were very 
 friendly again this morning." 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb's countenance was cynical: "My 
 dear, I've been married twice and I ought to know 
 something about honeymoons, but this honeyless 
 
 honeymoon " she cast up her eyes and her hands 
 
 in despair. 
 
 The women were so concerned about Mr. and 
 "Mrs." Mallory, that they hardly noticed the un- 
 comfortable plight of the Wellingtons, or the 
 curious behavior of the lady from the stateroom who 
 seemed to be afraid of something and never spoke 
 to anybody. The strange behavior of Anne Gattle 
 and Ira Lathrop even escaped much comment, 
 though they were forever being stumbled on when 
 anybody went out to the observation platform. 
 When they were dislodged from there, they sat play- 
 ing checkers and talking very little, but making eyes 
 at one another and sighing like furnaces. 
 
 They had evidently concocted some secret of their 
 own, for Ira, looking at his watch, murmured senti- 
 mentally to Anne: "Only a few hours more, An- 
 nie." 
 
 And Anne turned geranium-color and dropped a 
 handful of checkers. "I don't know how I can 
 face it." 
 
 Ira groy/led like a lovesick lion: "Aw, what do 
 you care?"
 
 MATRIMONY TO AND FRO 149 
 
 "But I was never married before, Ira," Anne 
 protested, "and on a train, too." 
 
 "Why, all the bridal couples take to the rail- 
 roads." 
 
 "I should think it would be the last place they'd 
 go," said Anne a sensible woman, Anne! "Look 
 at the Mallories how miserable they are." 
 
 "I thought they were happy," said Ira, whose 
 great virtue it was to pay little heed to what was 
 none of his business. 
 
 "Oh, Ira," cried Anne, "I hope we shan't begin 
 to quarrel as soon as we are married." 
 
 "As if anybody could quarrel with you, Anne," 
 he said. 
 
 "Do you think I'll be so monotonous as that?" 
 she retorted. 
 
 Her spunk delighted him beyond words. He 
 whispered: "Anne, you're so gol-darned sweet if 
 I don't get a chance to kiss you, I'll bust." 
 
 "Why, Ira we're on the train." 
 
 "Da darn the train! Who ever heard of a fel- 
 low proposing and getting engaged to a girl and not 
 even kissing her." 
 
 "But our engagement is so short." 
 
 "Well, I'm not going to marry you till I get a 
 kiss." 
 
 Perhaps innocent old Anne really believed this 
 blood-curdling threat. It brought her instantly to
 
 150 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 terms, though she blushed: "But everybody's always 
 looking." 
 
 "Come out on the observation platform." 
 
 "Oh, Ira, again?" 
 
 "I dare you." 
 
 "I take you but" seeing that Mrs. Whitcomb 
 was trying to overhear, she whispered: "let's pre- 
 tend it's the scenery." 
 
 So Ira rose, pushed the checkers aside, and said 
 in an unusually positive tone: "Ah, Miss Gattle, 
 won't you have a look at the landscape?" 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Mr. Lathrop," said Anne, "I 
 just love scenery." 
 
 They wandered forth like the Sleeping Beauty 
 and her princely awakener, and never dreamed what 
 gigglings and nudgings and wise head-noddings 
 went on back of them. Mrs. Wellington laughed 
 loudest of all at the lovers whose heads had grown 
 gray while their hearts were still so green. 
 
 It was shortly after this that the Wellingtons 
 themselves came into prominence in the train life. 
 
 As the train approached Green River, and its 
 copper-basined stream, the engineer began to set the 
 air-brakes for the stop. Jimmie Wellington, boozily 
 half-awake in the smoking room, wanted to know 
 what the name of the station was. Everybody is 
 always eager to oblige a drunken man, so Ashton 
 and Fosdick tried to get a window open to look 
 out.
 
 MATRIMONY TO AND FRO 151 
 
 The first one they labored at, they could not 
 budge after a biceps-breaking tug. The second flew 
 up with such ease that they went over backward. 
 Ashton put his head out and announced that the 
 approaching depot was labelled "Green River." 
 Vv T ellington burbled: "What a beautiful name for a 
 shtation." 
 
 Ashton announced that there was something beau- 
 tifuller still on the platform "Oh, a peach! a 
 nectarine ! and she's getting on this train." 
 
 Even Doctor Temple declared that she was a 
 dear little thing, wasn't she? 
 
 Wellington pushed him aside, saying: "Stand 
 back, Doc., and let me see; I have a keen sense of 
 beau'ful." 
 
 "Be careful," cried the doctor, "he'll fall out of 
 the window." 
 
 "Not out of that window," Ashton sagely ob- 
 served, seeing the bulk of Wellington. As the train 
 started off again, Little Jimmie distributed alco- 
 holic smiles to the Green Riverers on the platform 
 and called out: 
 
 "Goo'bye, ever'body. You're all abslootly ow! 
 ow!" He clapped his hand to his eye and crawled 
 back into the car, groaning with pain. 
 
 "What's the matter," said Wedgewood. "Got 
 something in your eye?" 
 
 "No, you blamed fool. I'm trying to look through 
 my thumb."
 
 152 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Poor fellow!" sympathized Doctor Temple, "it's 
 a cinder!" 
 
 "A cinder! It's at leasht a ton of coal." 
 
 "I say, old boy, let me have a peek," said Wedge- 
 wood, screwing in his monocle and peering into the 
 depths of Wellington's eye. "I can't see a bally 
 thing." 
 
 "Of course not, with that blinder on," growled 
 the miserable wretch, weeping in spite of himself 
 and rubbing his smarting orb. 
 
 "Don't rub that eye," Ashton counselled, "rub 
 the other eye." 
 
 "It's my eye; I'll rub it if I want to. Get me a 
 doctor, somebody. I'm dying." 
 
 "Here's Doctor Temple," said Ashton, "right 
 on the job." Wellington turned to the old clergy- 
 man with pathetic trust, and the deceiver writhed 
 in his disguise. The best he could think of was: 
 "Will somebody lend me a lead pencil?" 
 
 "What for?" said Wellington, uneasily. 
 
 "I am going to roll your upper lid up on it," said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 "Oh, no, you're not," said the patient. "You can 
 roll your own lids!" 
 
 Then the conductor, still another conductor, wan- 
 dered on the scene and asked as if it were not a 
 world-important matter: "What's the matter 
 pick up a cinder?"
 
 MATRIMONY TO AND FRO 153 
 
 "Yes. Perhaps you can get it out," the alleged 
 doctor appealed. 
 
 The conductor nodded : "The best way is this 
 take hold of the winkers. 
 
 "The what?" mumbled Wellington. 
 
 "Grab the winkers of your upper eyelid in your 
 right hand " 
 
 "I've got 'em." 
 
 "Now grab the winkers of your lower eyelid in 
 your left hand. Now raise the right hand, push the 
 under lid under the overlid and haul the overlid 
 over the underlid; when you have the overlid well 
 over the under " 
 
 Wellington waved him away: "Say, what do you 
 think I'm trying to do? stuff a mattress? Get out 
 of my way. I want my wife lead me to my wife." 
 
 "An excellent idea," said Dr. Temple, who had 
 been praying for a reconciliation. 
 
 He guided Wellington with difficulty to the ob- 
 servation room and, finding Mrs. Wellington at the 
 desk as usual, he began: "Oh, Mrs. Wellington, 
 may I introduce you to your husband?" 
 
 Mrs. Wellington rose haughtily, caught a sight 
 of her suffering consort and ran to him with a cry of 
 "Jimmie!" 
 
 "Lucretial" 
 
 "What's happened are you killed?" 
 
 "I'm far from well. But don't worry. My life 
 insurance is paid up."
 
 154 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Oh, my poor little darling," Mrs. Jimmie flut- 
 tered, "What on earth ails you?" She turned to 
 the doctor. "Is he going to die?" 
 
 "I think not," said the doctor. "It's only a bad 
 case of cinder-in-the-eyetis." 
 
 Thus reassured, Mrs. Wellington went into the 
 patient's eye with her handkerchief. "Is that the 
 eye?" she asked. 
 
 "No!" he howled, "the other one." 
 
 She went into that and came out with the cinder. 
 
 "There ! It's just a tiny speck." 
 
 Wellington regarded the mote with amazement. 
 "Is that all? It felt as if I had Pike's Peak in my 
 eye." Then he waxed tender. "Oh, Lucretia, how 
 can I ever " 
 
 But she drew away with a disdainful: "Give me 
 back my hand, please." 
 
 "Now, Lucretia," he protested, "don't you think 
 you're carrying this pretty far?" 
 
 "Only as far as Reno," she answered grimly, 
 which stung him to retort: "You'd better take the 
 beam out of your own eye, now that you've taken the 
 cinder out of mine," but she, noting that they were 
 the center of interest, observed: "All the passengers 
 are enjoying this, my dear. You'd better go back to 
 the cafe." 
 
 Wellington regarded her with a revulsion to 
 wrath. He thundered at her: "I will go back, but 
 allow me to inform you, my dear madam, that I'll
 
 MATRIMONY TO AND FRO 155 
 
 not drink another drop just to surprise you." 
 Mrs. Wellington shrugged her shoulders at this 
 ancient threat and Jimmie stumbled back to his lair, 
 whither the men followed him. Feeling sympathy 
 in the atmosphere, Little Jimmie felt impelled to 
 pour out his grief: 
 
 "Jellmen, I'm a brok'n-heartless man. Mrs. 
 WellVton is a queen among women, but she has tem- 
 per of tarant " 
 
 Wedgewood broke in: "I say, old boy, you've 
 carried this ballast for three days now, wherever 
 did you get it?" 
 
 Wellington drew himself up proudly for a mo- 
 ment before he slumped back into himself. "Well, 
 you see, when I announced to a few friends that I 
 was about to leave Mrs. Well'n'ton forever and 
 that I was going out to to you know." 
 "Reno. We know. Well?" 
 "Well, a crowd of my friends got up a farewell 
 sort of divorce breakfast and some of 'em felt so 
 very sad about my divorce that they drank a little 
 too much, and the rest of my friends felt so very 
 glad about my divorce, that they drank a little too 
 much. And, of course, I had to join both parties." 
 "And that breakfast," said Ashton, "lasted till 
 the train started, eh?" 
 
 Wellington glowered back triumphantly. "Lasted 
 till the train started? Jellmen, that breakfast is 
 going yet!"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IN THE SMOKING ROOM 
 
 WELLINGTON'S divorce breakfast reminded Ash- 
 ton of a story. Ashton was one of the great That- 
 Reminds-Me family. Perhaps it was to the credit 
 of the Englishman that he missed the point of this 
 story, even though Jimmie Wellington saw it through 
 his fog, and Dr. Temple turned red and buried his 
 eyes in the eminently respectable pages of the Sci- 
 entific American. 
 
 Ashton and Wellington and Fosdick exchanged 
 winks over the Britisher's stare of incomprehension, 
 and Ashton explained it to him again in words of 
 one syllable, with signboards at all the difficult spots. 
 
 Finally a gleam of understanding broke over 
 Wedgewood's face and he tried to justify his delay. 
 
 "Oh, yes, of cawse I see it now. Yes, I rather 
 fancy I get you. It's awfully good, isn't it? I think 
 I should have got it before but I'm not really my- 
 self; for two mawnings I haven't had my tub." 
 
 Wellington shook with laughter: "If you're like 
 this now, what will you be when you get to Sin san 
 
 156
 
 IN THE SMOKING ROOM 157 
 
 frasco I mean Frinsansisco well, you know what 
 I mean." 
 
 Ashton reached round for the electric button as 
 if he were conferring a favor: "The drinks are on 
 you, Wedgewood. I'll ring." And he rang. 
 
 "Awf'lly kind of you," said Wedgewood, "but 
 how do you make that out?" 
 
 "The man that misses the point, pays for the 
 drinks." And he rang again. Wellington protested. 
 
 "But I've jolly well paid for all the drinks for 
 two days." 
 
 Wellington roared : "That's another point you've 
 missed." And Ashton rang again, but the pale yel- 
 low individual who had always answered the bell 
 with alacrity did not appear. "Where's that in- 
 fernal buffet waiter?" Ashton grumbled. 
 
 Wedgewood began to titter. "We were out of 
 Scotch, so I sent him for some more." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Two stations back. I fancy jwe must have left 
 him behind." 
 
 "Well, why in thunder didn't you say so?" Ashton 
 roared. 
 
 "It quite escaped my mind," Wedgewood grinned. 
 "Rather good joke on you fellows, what?" 
 
 "Well, I don't see the point," Ashton growled, 
 but the triumphant Englishman howled: "That's 
 where you pay!" 
 
 Wedgewood had his laugh to himself, for the
 
 158 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 others wanted to murder him. Ashton advised a 
 lynching, but the conductor arrived on the scene in 
 time to prevent violence. 
 
 Fosdick informed him of the irretrievable loss of 
 the useful buffet waiter. The conductor promised 
 to get another at Ogden. 
 
 Ashton wailed : "Have we got to sit here and die 
 of thirst till then?" 
 
 The conductor refused to "back up for a coon," 
 but offered to send in a sleeping-car porter as a 
 temporary substitute. 
 
 As he started to go, Fosdick, who had been in- 
 cessantly consulting his watch, checked him to ask: 
 "Oh, conductor, when do we get to the State-line of 
 dear old Utah?" 
 
 "Dear old Utah !" the conductor grinned. " We'd 
 'a' been there already if we hadn't 'a' fell behind 
 a little." 
 
 "Just my luck to be late," Fosdick moaned. 
 
 "What you so anxious to be in Utah for, Fos- 
 dick?" Ashton asked, suspiciously. "You go on to 
 'Frisco, don't you?" 
 
 Fosdick was evidently confused at the direct ques- 
 tion. He tried to dodge it: "Yes, but funny how 
 things have changed. When we started, nobody was 
 speaking to anybody except his wife, now " 
 
 "Now," said Ashton, drily, "everybody's speaking 
 to everybody except his wife." 
 
 "You're wrong there," Little Jimmie interrupted.
 
 IN THE SMOKING ROOM 159 
 
 "I wasn't speaking to my wife in the first place. We 
 got on as strangersh and we're strangersh yet. Mrs. 
 Well'n'ton is a " 
 
 "A queen among women, we know! Dry up," 
 said Ashton, and then they heard the querulous voice 
 of the porter of their sleeping car: "I tell you, I 
 don't know nothin' about the buffet business." 
 
 The conductor pushed him in with a gruff com- 
 mand: "Crawl in that cage and get busy." 
 
 Still the porter protested: "Mista Pullman en- 
 gaged me for a sleepin' car, not a drinkin' car. I'm 
 a berth-maker, not a mixer." He cast a resentful 
 glance through the window that served also as a 
 bar, and his whole tone changed: "Say, is you 
 goin' to allow me loose amongst all them beautiful 
 bottles? Say, man, if you do, I can't guarantee my 
 conduck." 
 
 "If you even sniff one of those bottles," the con- 
 ductor warned him, "I'll crack it over your head." 
 
 "That won't worry me none as long as my 
 mouf's open." He smacked his chops over the pros- 
 pect of intimacy with that liquid treasury. "Lordy! 
 Well, I'll try to control my emotions but remem- 
 ber, I don't guarantee nothin'." 
 
 The conductor started to go, but paused for final 
 instructions: "And remember after we get to 
 Utah you can't serve any hard liquor at all." 
 
 "What's that? Don't they 'low nothin' in that 
 eld Utah but ice-cream soda?"
 
 160 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "That's about all. If you touch a drop, I'll leave 
 you in Utah for life." 
 
 "Oh, Lordy, I'll be good!" 
 
 The conductor left the excited black and went his 
 way. Ashton was the first to speak: "Say, Porter, 
 can you mix drinks?" 
 
 The porter ruminated, then confessed: "Well, 
 not on the outside, no, sir. If you-all is thirsty you 
 better order the simpelest things you can think of. 
 If you was to command anything fancy, Lord knows 
 what you'd get. Supposin' you was to say, 'Gimme 
 a Tom Collins.' I'd be just as liable as not to pass 
 you a Jack Johnson." 
 
 "Well, can you open beer?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm a natural born beer-opener." 
 
 "Rush it out then. My throat is as full of alkali 
 dust as these windows." 
 
 The porter soon appeared with a tray full of 
 cotton-topped glasses. The day was hot and the 
 alkali dust very oppressive, and the beer was cold. 
 Dr. Temple looked on it when it was amber, and 
 suffered himself to be bullied into taking a glass. 
 
 He felt that he was the greatest sinner on earth, 
 but worst of all was the fact that when he had fallen, 
 the forbidden brew was not sweet. He was inex- 
 perienced enough to sip it and it was like foaming 
 quinine on his palate. But he kept at it from sheer 
 shame, and his luxurious transgression was its own 
 punishment.
 
 IN THE SMOKING ROOM 161 
 
 The doleful Mallory was on his way to join the 
 "club". Crossing the vestibule he had met the con- 
 ductor, and had ventured to quiz him along the old 
 lines: 
 
 "Excuse me, haven't you taken any clergymen on 
 board this train yet?" 
 
 "Devil a one." 
 
 "Don't you ever carry any preachers on this 
 road?" 
 
 "Usually we get one or two. Last trip we carried 
 a whole Methodist convention." 
 
 "A whole convention last trip ! Just my luck !" 
 
 The unenlightened conductor turned to call back: 
 "Say, up in the forward car we got a couple of un- 
 dertakers. They be of any use to you?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 Then Mallory dawdled on into the smoking room, 
 where he found his own porter, who explained that 
 he had been "promoted to the bottlery." 
 
 "Do we come to a station stop soon?" Mallory 
 asked. 
 
 "Well, not for a considerable interval. Do you 
 want to get out and walk up and down?" | 
 
 "I don't," said Mallory, taking from under his 
 coat Snoozleums, whom he had smuggled past the 
 new conductor. "Meanwhile, Porter, could you give 
 him something to eat to distract him?" 
 
 The porter grinned, and picking up a bill of fare 
 held it out. "I got a meenuel. It ain't written in
 
 162 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 dog, but you can explain it to him. What would yo* 
 canine desiah, sah?" 
 
 Snoozleums put out a paw and Mallory read what 
 it indicated: "He says he'd like a filet Chateau- 
 briand, but if you have any old bones, he'll take 
 those." The porter gathered Snoozleums in and 
 disappeared with him into the buffet, Mallory call- 
 ing after him: "Don't let the conductor see him." 
 
 Dr. Temple advanced on the disconsolate youth 
 with an effort at cheer: "How is our bridegroom 
 this beautiful afternoon?" 
 
 Mallory glanced at his costume: "I feel like a 
 rainbow gone wrong. Just my luck to have to bor- 
 row from everybody. Look at me ! This collar of 
 Mr. Wellington's makes me feel like a peanut in a 
 rubber tire." He turned to Fosdick. 
 
 "I say, Mr. Fosdick, what size collar do you 
 wear?" 
 
 "Fourteen and a half," said Fosdick. 
 
 "Fourteen and a half! why don't you get a neck? 
 You haven't got a plain white shirt, have you? Our 
 English friend lent me this, but it's purple, and Mr. 
 Ashton's socks are maroon, and this peacock blue 
 tie is very unhappy." 
 
 "I think I can fit you out," said Fosdick. 
 
 "And if you had an extra pair of socks," Mallory 
 pleaded, "just one pair of unemotional socks." 
 
 "I'll show you my repertoire." 
 
 "All right, I'll see you later." Then he went up
 
 IN THE SMOKING ROOM 163 
 
 to Wellington, with much hesitance of manner. "By 
 the way, Mr. Wellington, do you suppose Mrs. Wel- 
 lington could lend Miss Mrs. could lend Mar- 
 jorie some some " 
 
 Wellington waved him aside with magnificent 
 scorn: "I am no longer in Mrs. Wellington's con- 
 fidence." 
 
 "Oh, excuse me," said Mallory. He had noted 
 that the Wellingtons occupied separate compart- 
 ments, but for all he knew their reason was as ro- 
 mantic as his own.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THROUGH A TUNNEL 
 
 MRS. JIMMIE WELLINGTON, who had traveled 
 much abroad and learned in England the habit of 
 smoking in the corridors of expensive hotels, had 
 acquired also the habit, as travelers do, of calling 
 England freer than America. She determined to do 
 her share toward the education of her native coun- 
 try, and chose, for her topic, tobacco as a feminine 
 accomplishment. 
 
 She had grown indifferent to stares and audible 
 comment and she could fight a protesting head waiter 
 to a standstill. If monuments and tablets are ever 
 erected to the first woman who smoked publicly in 
 this place or that, Mrs. Jimmie Wellington will 
 be variously remembered and occupy a large place 
 in historical record. 
 
 The narrow confines of the women's room on the 
 sleeping car soon palled on her, and she objected to 
 smoking there except when she felt the added luxury 
 of keeping some other woman outside fuming, but 
 not smoking. And now Mrs. Jimmie had staked out 
 a claim on the observation platform. She sat there, 
 
 164
 
 THROUGH A TUNNEL 165 
 
 puffing like a major-general, and in one portion of 
 Nebraska two farmers fell off their agricultural 
 vehicles at the sight of her cigar-smoke trailing after 
 the train. In Wyoming three cowboys followed her 
 for a mile, yipping and howling their compli- 
 ments. 
 
 Feeling the smoke mood coming on, Mrs. Wel- 
 lington invited Mrs. Temple to smoke with her, but 
 Mrs. Temple felt a reminiscent qualm at the very 
 thought, so Mrs. Jimmie sauntered out alone, to the 
 great surprise of Ira Lathrop, whose motto was, 
 "Two heads are better than one," and who was 
 apparently willing to wait till Anne Cattle's head 
 grew on his shoulder. 
 
 "I trust I don't intrude," Mrs. Wellington said. 
 
 "Oh, no. Oh, yes." Anne gasped in fiery con- 
 fusion as she fled into the car, followed by the purple- 
 faced Ira, who slammed the door with a growl: 
 "That Wellington woman would break up anything." 
 
 The prim little missionary toppled into the nearest 
 chair: "Oh, Ira, what will she think?" 
 
 "She can't think!" Ira grumbled. "In a little 
 while she'll know." 
 
 "Don't you think we'd better tell everybody be- 
 fore they begin to talk?" 
 
 Ira glowed with pride at the thought and mur- 
 mured with all the ardor of a senile Romeo: "I 
 suppose so, ducky darling. I'll break it I mean I'll 
 tell it to the men, and you tell the women."
 
 166 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "All right, dear, I'll obey you," she answered, 
 meekly. 
 
 "Obey me!" Ira laughed with boyish swagger. 
 "And you a missionary!" 
 
 "Well, I've converted one heathen, anyway," said 
 Anne as she darted down the corridor, followed by 
 Ira, who announced his intention to "go to the bag- 
 gage car and dig up his old Prince Albert." 
 
 In their flight forward they passed the mysterious 
 woman in the stateroom. They were too full of 
 their own mystery to give thought to hers. Mrs. 
 Fosdick went timidly prowling toward the observa- 
 tion car, suspecting everybody to be a spy, as Mal- 
 lory suspected everybody to be a clergyman in dis- 
 guise. 
 
 As she stole along the corridor past the men's 
 clubroom she saw her husband her here-and-there 
 husband wearily counting the telegraph posts and 
 summing them up into miles. She tapped on the 
 glass and signalled to him, then passed on. 
 
 He answered with a look, then pretended not to 
 have noticed, and waited a few moments before he 
 rose with an elaborate air of carelessness. He beck- 
 oned the porter and said: 
 
 "Let me know the moment we enter Utah, will 
 you?" 
 
 "Yassah. We'll be comin' along right soon now. 
 We got to pass through the big Aspen tunnel, after 
 that, befo' long, we splounce into old Utah."
 
 THROUGH A TUNNEL 167 
 
 "Don't forget," said Fosdick, as he sauntered out. 
 Ashton perked up his ears at the promise of a tunnel 
 and kept his eye on his watch. 
 
 Fosdick entered the observation room with a 
 hungry look in his luscious eyes. His now-and-then 
 wife put up a warning finger 'to indicate Mrs. Whit- 
 comb's presence at the writing desk. 
 
 Fosdick's smile froze into a smirk of formality 
 and he tried to chill his tone as if he were speaking 
 to a total stranger. 
 
 "Good afternoon." 
 
 Mrs. Fosdick answered with equal ice: "Good 
 afternoon. Won't you sit down?" 
 
 "Thanks. Very picturesque scenery, isn't it?" 
 
 "Isn't it?" Fosdick seated himself, looked about 
 cautiously, noted that Mrs. Whitcomb was appar- 
 ently absorbed in her letter, then lowered his voice 
 confidentially. His face kept up a strained pretense 
 of indifference, but his whisper was passionate with 
 longing: 
 
 "Has my poor little wifey missed her poor old 
 hubby?" 
 
 "Oh, so much!" she whispered. "Has poor little 
 hubby missed his poor old wife?" 
 
 "Horribly. Was she lonesome in that dismal 
 stateroom all by herself?" 
 
 "Oh, so miserable! I can't stand it much long- 
 er." 
 
 Fosdick's face blazed with good news: "In just
 
 168 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 a little while we come to the Utah line then we're 
 safe." 
 
 "God bless Utah!" 
 
 The rapture died from her face as she caught sight 
 of Dr. Temple, who happened to stroll in and go to 
 the bookshelves, and taking out a book happened to 
 glance near-sightedly her way. 
 
 "Be careful of that man, dearie," Mrs. Fosdick 
 hissed out of one side of her mouth. "He's a very 
 strange character." 
 
 Her husband was infected with her own terror. 
 He asked, huskily: "What do you think he is?" 
 
 "A detective! I'm sure he's watching us. He 
 followed you right in here." 
 
 "We'll be very cautious till we get to Utah." 
 
 The old clergyman, a little fuzzy in brain from 
 his debut in beer, continued innocently to confirm 
 the appearance of a detective by drifting aimlessly 
 about. He was looking for his wife, but he kept 
 glancing at the uneasy Fosdicks. He went to the 
 door, opened it, saw Mrs. Wellington finishing a 
 cigar, and retreated precipitately. Seeing Mrs. 
 Temple wandering in the corridor, he motioned her 
 to a chair near the Fosdicks and she sat by his side, 
 wondering at his filmy eyes. 
 
 The Fosdicks, glancing uncomfortably at Dr. 
 Temple, rose and selected other chairs further away. 
 Then Roger Ashton sauntered in, his eyes searching 
 for a proper companion through the tunnel.
 
 THROUGH A TUNNEL 169 
 
 He saw Mrs. Wellington returning from the plat- 
 form, just tossing away her cigar and blowing out 
 the last of its grateful vapor. 
 
 With an effort at sarcasm, he went to her and 
 offered her one of his own cigars, smiling: "Have 
 another." 
 
 She took it, looked it over, and parried his irony 
 with a formula she had heard men use when they 
 hate to refuse a gift-cigar: "Thanks. I'll smoke 
 it after dinner, if you don't mind." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind," he laughed, then bending 
 closer he murmured: "They tell me we are coming 
 to a tunnel, a nice, long, dark, dismal tunnel." 
 
 Mrs. Wellington would not take a dare. She felt 
 herself already emancipated from Jimmie. So she 
 answered Ashton's hint with a laughing challenge : 
 
 "How nice of the conductor to arrange it." 
 
 Ashton smacked his lips over the prospect. 
 
 And now the porter, having noted Ashton's im- 
 patience to reach the tunnel, thought to curry favor 
 and a quarter by announcing its approach. He 
 bustled in and made straight for Ashton just as the 
 tunnel announced itself with a sudden swoop of 
 gloom, a great increase of the train-noises and a far- 
 off clang of the locomotive bell. 
 
 Out of the Egyptian darkness came the unmis- 
 takable sounds of osculation in various parts of the 
 room. Doubtless, it was repeated in other parts of 
 the train. There were numerous cooing sounds, too,
 
 170 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 but nobody spoke except Mrs. Temple, who was 
 heard to murmur: 
 
 "Oh, Walter, dear, what makes your breath so 
 funny!" 
 
 Next came a little yowl of pain in Mrs. Fosdick's 
 voice, and then daylight flooded the car with a rush, 
 as if time had made an instant leap from midnight 
 to noon. There were interesting disclosures. 
 
 Mrs. Temple was caught with her arms round 
 the doctor's neck, and she blushed like a spoony girl. 
 Mrs. Fosdick was trying to disengage her hair from 
 Mr. Fosdick's scarf-pin. Mrs. Whitcomb alone was 
 deserted. Mr. Ashton was gazing devotion at Mrs. 
 Wellington and trying to tell her with his eyes how 
 velvet he had found her cheek. 
 
 But she was looking reproachfully at him from 
 a chair, and saying, not without regret: 
 
 "I heard everybody kissing everybody, but I was 
 cruelly neglected." 
 
 Ashton's eyes widened with unbelief, he heard a 
 snicker at his elbow, and whirled to find the porter 
 rubbing his black velvet cheek and writhing with 
 pent-up laughter. 
 
 Mrs. Wellington glanced the same way, and a 
 shriek of understanding burst from her. It sent the 
 porter into a spasm of yah-yahs till he caught Ash- 
 ton's eyes and saw murder in them. The porter fled 
 to the platform and held the door fast, expecting 
 to be lynched.
 
 THROUGH A TUNNEL 171 
 
 But Ashton dashed away in search of concealment 
 and soap. 
 
 The porter remained on the platform for some 
 time, planning to leap overboard and take his 
 chances rather than fall into Ashton's hands, but at 
 length, finding himself unpursued, he peered into the 
 car and, seeing that Ashton had gone, he returned 
 to his duties. He kept a close watch on Ashton, but 
 on soberer thoughts Ashton had decided that the 
 incident would best be consigned to silence and ob- 
 livion. But for all the rest of that day he kept rub- 
 bing his lips with his handkerchief. 
 
 The porter, noting that the train had swept into 
 a granite gorge like an enormously magnified aisle 
 in a made-up sleeping car, recognized the presence 
 of Echo Canyon, and with it the entrance into Utah. 
 He hastened to impart the tidings to Mr. Fosdick 
 and held out his hand as he extended the informa- 
 tion. 
 
 Fosdick could hardly believe that his twelve- 
 hundred-mile exile was over. 
 
 "We're in Utah?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yassah," and the porter shoved his palm into 
 view. Fosdick filled it with all his loose change, then 
 whirled to his wife and cried: 
 
 "Edith! We are in Utah now! Embrace me!" 
 
 She flung herself into his arms with a gurgle of 
 bliss. The other passengers gasped with amaze- 
 ment. This sort of thing was permissible enough
 
 172 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 in a tunnel, but in the full light of day ! 
 
 Fosdick, noting the sensation he had created, 
 waved his hand reassuringly and called across his 
 wife's shoulder: 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen. She's 
 my wife!" He added in a whisper meant for her 
 ear alone: "At least till we get to Nevada!" 
 
 Then she whispered something in his ear and 
 they hurried from the car. They left behind them 
 a bewilderment that eclipsed the wonder of the Mai- 
 lories. That couple spoke to each other at least 
 during the day time. Here was a married pair that 
 did not speak at all for two days and two nights and 
 then made a sudden and public rush to each other's 
 arms! 
 
 Dr. Temple summed up the general feeling when 
 he said: 
 
 "I don't believe in witches, but if I did, I'd believe 
 that this train is bewitched." 
 
 Later he decided that Fosdick was a Mormon 
 elder and that Mrs. Fosdick was probably a twelfth 
 or thirteenth spouse he was smuggling in from the 
 East. The theory was not entirely false, for Fos- 
 dick was one of the many victims of the crazy-quilt 
 of American divorce codes, though he was the most 
 unwilling of polygamists. And Dr. Temple gave up 
 his theory in despair the next morning when he found 
 the Fosdicks still on the train, and once more keep- 
 ing aloof from each other.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE TRAIN BUTCHER 
 
 MALLORY was dragging out a miserable existence 
 with a companion who was neither maid, wife, nor 
 widow and to whom he was neither bachelor, hus- 
 band, nor relict. 
 
 They were suffering brain-fag from their one topic 
 of conversation, and heart-fag from rapture de- 
 ferred. Marjorie had pretended to take a nap and 
 Mallory had pretended that he would leave her for 
 her own sake. Their contradictory chains were be- 
 ginning to gall. 
 
 Mallory sat in the smoking room, and threw aside 
 a half-finished cigar. Life was indeed nauseous 
 when tobacco turned rank on his lips. He watched 
 without interest the stupendous scenery whirling past 
 the train; granite ravines, infernal grotesques of 
 architecture and diablerie, the Giant's Teapot, the 
 Devil's Slide, the Pulpit Rock, the Hanging Rock, 
 splashes of mineral color, as if titanic paint pots 
 had been spilled or flung against the cliffs, sudden 
 hushes of green pine-worlds, dreary graveyards of 
 sand and sagebrush, mountain streams in frothing 
 panics. 
 
 173
 
 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 His jaded soul could not respond to any of these 
 thrillers, the dime-novels and melodramatic third- 
 acts of Nature. But with the arrival of a train-boy, 
 who had got on at Evanston with a batch of Salt 
 Lake City newspapers, he woke a little. 
 
 The other men came trooping round, like sheep 
 at a herd-boy's whistle or chickens when a pan of 
 grain is brought into the yard. The train "butcher" 
 had a nasal sing-song, but his strain might have been 
 the Pied Piper's tune emptying Hamelin of its 
 grown-ups. The charms of flirtation, matrimonial 
 bliss and feminine beauty were forgotten, and the 
 males flocked to the delights of stock-market re- 
 ports, political or racing or dramatic or sporting or 
 criminal news. Even Ashton braved the eyes of his 
 fellow men for the luxury of burying his nose in a 
 fresh paper. 
 
 "Papers, gents? Yes? No?" the train butcher 
 chanted. "Salt Lake papers, Ogden papers, all the 
 latest papers, comic papers, magazines, periodicals." 
 
 "Here, boy," said Ashton, snapping his fingers, 
 "what's the latest New York paper?" 
 
 "Last Sat'day's." 
 
 "Six days old? I read that before I left New 
 York. Well, give me that Salt Lake paper. It has 
 yesterday's stock market, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes, sir." He passed over the sheet and made 
 change, without abating his monody: "Papers, 
 gents. Yes? No? Salt Lake pa "
 
 THE TRAIN BUTCHER 175 
 
 "Whash latesh from Chicago?" said Wellington. 
 "Monday's." 
 
 "I read that before that breakfast began," 
 laughed Little Jimmie. "Well, give me Salt Lake 
 Bazoo. It has basheball news, I s'pose." 
 
 "Yes, sir," the butcher answered, and his tone 
 grew reverent as he said: "The Giants won. Mr. 
 Mattyson was pitching. Papers, gents, all the lat- 
 est papers, magazines, periodicals." 
 
 Wedgewood extended a languid hand: "What's 
 the latest issue of the London Times?" 
 "Never heard of it." 
 
 Wedgewood almost fainted, and returned to his 
 Baedeker of the United States. 
 
 Dr. Temple summoned the lad: "I don't suppose 
 you have the Ypsilanti Eagle?" 
 
 The butcher regarded him with pity, and sniffed: 
 "I carry newspapers, not poultry." 
 
 "Well, give me the " he saw a pink weekly 
 
 of rather picturesque appearance, and the adventure 
 attracted him. "I'll take this also the Outlook" 
 He folded the pink within the green, and entered 
 into a new and startling world a sort of journalistic 
 slumming tour. 
 
 "Give me any old thing," said Mallory, and flung 
 open an Ogden journal till he found the sporting 
 page, where his eyes brightened. "By jove, a ten- 
 inning game! Matthewson in the box!" 
 
 "Mattie is most intelleckshal pitcher in the
 
 176 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 world," said Little Jimmie, and then everybody dis- 
 appeared behind paper ramparts, while the butcher 
 lingered to explain to the porter the details of the 
 great event. 
 
 About this time, Marjorie, tired of her pretence 
 at slumber, strolled into the observation car, glanc- 
 ing into the men's room, where she saw nothing 
 but newspapers. Then Mrs. Wellington saw her, 
 and smiled: "Come in and make yourself at 
 home." 
 
 "Thanks," said Marjorie, bashfully, "I was look- 
 ing for my my " 
 
 "Husband?" 
 
 "My dog." 
 
 "How is he this morning?" 
 
 "My dog?" 
 
 "Your husband." 
 
 "Oh, he's as well as could be expected." 
 
 "Where did you get that love of a waist?" Mrs. 
 Wellington laughed. 
 
 "Mrs. Temple lent it to me. Isn't it sweet?" 
 
 "Exquisite! The latest Ypsilanti mode." 
 
 Marjorie, suffering almost more acutely from 
 being badly frocked than from being duped in her 
 matrimonial hopes, threw herself on Mrs. Welling- 
 ton's mercy. 
 
 "I'm so unhappy in this. Couldn't you lend me 
 or sell me something a little smarter?" 
 
 "I'd love to, my dear," said Mrs. Wellington,
 
 THE TRAIN BUTCHER 177 
 
 "but I left home on short notice myself. I shall 
 need all my divorce trousseau in Reno. Otherwise 
 I but here's your husband. You two ought to 
 have some place to spoon. I'll leave you this whole 
 room." 
 
 And she swept out, nodding to Mallory, who had 
 divined Marjorie's presence, and felt the need of 
 being near her, though he also felt the need of fin- 
 ishing the story of the great ball game. Husband- 
 like, he felt that he was conferring sufficient cour- 
 tesy in throwing a casual smile across the top of the 
 paper. 
 
 Marjorie studied his motley garb, and her own, 
 and groaned: 
 
 "We're a sweet looking pair, aren't we?" 
 
 "Mr. and Miss Fit," said Mallory, from behind 
 the paper. 
 
 "Oh, Harry, has your love grown cold?" she 
 pleaded. 
 
 "Marjorie, how can you think such a thing?" still 
 from behind the paper. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Wellington said we ought to have 
 some place to spoon, and she went away and left 
 us, and there you stand and " 
 
 This pierced even the baseball news, and he threw 
 his arms around her with glow of devotion. 
 
 She snuggled closer, and cooed: "Aren't we hav- 
 ing a nice long engagement? We've traveled a 
 million miles, and the preacher isn't in sight yet.
 
 ITS "EXCUSE ME! 
 
 What have you been reading wedding announce- 
 ments?" 
 
 "No I was reading about the most wonderful 
 exhibition. Mattie was in the box and in perfect 
 
 form." 
 
 "Mattie?" Marjorie gasped uneasily. 
 
 "Mattie!" he raved, "and in perfect form." 
 
 And now the hidden serpent of jealousy, which 
 promised to enliven their future, lifted its head for 
 the first time, and Mallory caught his first glimpse of 
 an unsuspected member of their household. Mar- 
 jorie demanded with an ominous chill: 
 
 "And who's Mattie? Some former sweetheart 
 of yours?" 
 
 "My dear," laughed Mallory. 
 
 But Marjorie was up and away, with apt temper: 
 "So Mattie was in the box, was she? What is it 
 to you, where she sits? You dare to read about her 
 and rave over her perfect form, while you neglect 
 your wife or your oh, what am I, anyway?" 
 
 Mallory stared at her in amazement. He was 
 beginning to learn what ignorant heathen women are 
 concerning so many of the gods and demi-gods of 
 mankind. Then, with a tenderness he might not al- 
 ways show, he threw the paper down and took her in 
 his arms: "You poor child. Mattie is a man a 
 pitcher and you're the only woman I ever loved 
 and you are liable to be my wife any minute." 
 
 The explanation was sufficient, and she crawled
 
 THE TRAIN BUTCHER 179 
 
 into the shelter of his arm with little noises that 
 served for apology, forgiveness and reconciliation. 
 Then he made the mistake of mentioning the sick- 
 ening topic of deferred hope: 
 
 "A minister's sure to get on at the next stop 
 or the next." 
 
 Marjorie's nerves were frayed by too much endur- 
 ing, and it took only a word to set them jangling: 
 "If you say minister to me again, I'll scream." Then 
 she tried to control herself with a polite : "Where is 
 the next stop?" 
 
 "Ogden." 
 
 "Where's that? On the map?" 
 
 "Well, it's in Utah." 
 
 "Utah!" she groaned. "They marry by whole- 
 sale there, and we can't even get a sample."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE TRAIN WRECKER 
 
 THE train-butcher, entering the Observation 
 Room, found only a loving couple. He took in at 
 a glance their desire for solitude. A large part of 
 his business was the forcing of wares on people who 
 did not want them. 
 
 His voice and his method suggested the mosquito. 
 Seeing Mallory and Marjorie mutually absorbed in 
 reading each other's eyes, and evidently in need of 
 nothing on earth less than something else to read, 
 the train-butcher decided that his best plan of attack 
 was to make himself a nuisance. It is a plan suc- 
 cessfully adopted by organ-grinders, street pianists 
 and other blackmailers under the guise of art, who 
 have nothing so welcome to sell as their absence. 
 
 Mallory and Marjorie heard the train-boy's hum, 
 but they tried to ignore it. 
 
 "Papers, gents and ladies? Yes? No? Paris 
 fashions, lady?" 
 
 He shoved a large periodical between their very 
 noses, but Marjorie threw it on the floor, with a bit- 
 ter glance at her own borrowed plumage : 
 
 180
 
 THE TRAIN WRECKER 181 
 
 "Don't show me any Paris fashions!" Then she 
 gave the boy his conge by resuming her chat with 
 Mallory: "How long do we stop at Ogden?" 
 
 The train-boy went right on auctioning his papers 
 and magazines, and poking them into the laps of his 
 prey. And they went right on talking to one an- 
 other and pushing his papers and magazines to the 
 floor. 
 
 "I think I'd better get off at Ogden, and take the 
 next train back. That's just what I'll do. Nothing, 
 thank you!" this last to the train-boy. 
 
 "But you can't leave me like this," Mallory urged 
 excitedly, with a side glance of "No, no!" to the 
 train-boy. 
 
 "I can, and I must, and I will," Marjorie insisted. 
 "I'll go pack my things now." 
 
 "But, Marjorie, listen to me." 
 
 "Will you let me alone!" This to the gadfly, but 
 to Mallory a dejected wail: "I I just remembered. 
 I haven't anything to pack." 
 
 "And you'll have to give back that waist to Mrs. 
 Temple. You can't get off at Ogden without a 
 waist." 
 
 "I'll go anyway. I want to get home." 
 
 "Marjorie, if you talk that way I'll throw you 
 off the train!" 
 
 She gasped. He explained: "I wasn't talking to 
 you; I was trying to stop this phonograph." Then 
 he rose, and laid violent hands on the annoyer,
 
 182 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 shoved him to the corridor, seized his bundle of pa- 
 pers from his arm, and hurled them at his head. 
 They fell in a shower about the train-butcher, who 
 could only feel a certain respect for the one man 
 who had ever treated him as he knew he deserved. 
 He bent to pick up his scattered merchandise, and 
 when he had gathered his stock together, put his 
 head in, and sang out a sincere: 
 
 "Excuse me." 
 
 But Mallory did not hear him, he was excitedly 
 trying to calm the excited girl, who, having eloped 
 with him, was preparing now to elope back without 
 him. 
 
 "Darling, you can't desert me now," he pleaded, 
 "and leave me to go on alone?" 
 
 "Well, why don't you do something?" she re- 
 torted, in equal desperation. "If I were a man, and 
 I had the girl I loved on a train. I'd get her mar- 
 ried if I had to wreck the " she caught her 
 
 breath, paused a second in intense thought, and then, 
 with sudden radiance, cried: "Harry, dear!" 
 
 "Yes, love! " 
 
 "I have an idea an inspiration!" 
 
 "Yes, pet," rather dubiously from him, but with 
 absolute exultation from her: "Let's wreck the 
 train!" 
 
 "I don't follow you, sweetheart." 
 
 "Don't you see?" she began excitedly. "When 
 there are train wrecks a lot of people get killed, and
 
 THE TRAIN WRECKER 183 
 
 things. A minister always turns up to administer the 
 last something or other well " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, stupid, don't you see? We wreck a train, 
 a minister comes, we nab him, he marries us, and 
 there we are! Everything's lovely!" 
 
 He gave her one of those looks with which a man 
 usually greets what a woman calls an inspiration. 
 He did not honor her invention with analysis. He 
 simply put forward an objection to it, and, man-like, 
 chose the most hateful of all objections: 
 
 "It's a lovely idea, but the wreck would delay us 
 for hours and hours, and I'd miss my transport " 
 
 "Harry Mallory, if you mention that odious trans- 
 port to me again, I know I'll have hydrophobia. 
 I'm going home." 
 
 "But, darling," he pleaded, "you can't desert me 
 now, and leave me to go on alone?" She had her 
 answer glib : 
 
 "If you really loved me, you'd " 
 
 "Oh, I know," he cut in. "You've said that 
 before. But I'd be court-martialled. I'd lose my 
 
 career." 
 
 "What's a career to a man who truly loves?" 
 "It's just as much as it is to anybody else and 
 
 more." 
 
 She could hardly controvert this gracefully, so she 
 
 sank back with grim resignation. "Well, I've pro-
 
 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 posed my plan, and you don't like it. Now, suppose 
 you propose something." 
 
 The silence was oppressive. They sat like stough- 
 ton bottles. There the conductor found them some 
 time later. He gave them a careless look, selected 
 a chair at the end of the car, and began to sort his 
 tickets, spreading them out on another chair, making 
 notes with the pencil he took from atop his ear, and 
 shoved back from time to time. 
 
 Ages seemed to pass, and Mallory had not even 
 a suggestion. By this time Marjorie's temper had 
 evaporated, and when he said: "If we co.uld only 
 stop at some town for half an hour," she said: 
 "Maybe the conductor would hold the train for us." 
 
 "I hardly think he would." 
 
 "He looks like an awfully nice man. You ask 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, what's the use?" 
 
 Marjorie was getting tired of depending on this 
 charming young man with the very bad luck. She 
 decided to assume command herself. She took re- 
 course naturally to the original feminine methods : 
 "I'll take care of him," she said, with resolution. 
 "A woman can get a man to do almost anything if 
 she flirts a little with him." 
 
 "Marjorie!" 
 
 "Now, don't you mind anything I do. Remember, 
 it's all for love of you even if I have to kiss him." 
 
 "Marjorie, I won't permit "
 
 THE TRAIN WRECKER 185 
 
 "You have no right to boss me yet. You sub- 
 side." She gave him the merest touch, but he fell 
 backward into a chair, utterly aghast at the shame- 
 less siren into which desperation had altered the 
 timid little thing he thought he had chosen to love. 
 He was being rapidly initiated into the complex and 
 versatile and fearfully wonderful thing a woman 
 really is, and he was saying to himself, "What have 
 I married?" forgetting, for the moment, that he had 
 not married her yet, and that therein lay the whole 
 trouble.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 DELILAH AND THE CONDUCTOR 
 
 LIKE the best of women and the worst of men, 
 Marjorie was perfectly willing to do evil, that good 
 might come of it. She advanced on the innocent con- 
 ductor, as the lady from Sorek must have sidled up to 
 Samson, coquetting with one arch hand and snipping 
 the shears with the other. 
 
 The stupefied Mallory saw Marjorie in a startling 
 imitation of herself at her sweetest; only now it was 
 brazen mimicry, yet how like! She went, forward 
 as the shyest young thing in the world, pursed her 
 lips into an ecstatic simper, and began on the unsus- 
 pecting official : 
 
 "Isn't the country perfectly " 
 
 "Yes, but I'm getting used to it," the conductor 
 growled, without looking up. 
 
 His curt indifference jolted Marjorie a trifle, but 
 she rallied her forces, and came back with: "How 
 long do we stop at Ogden?" 
 
 "Five minutes," very bluntly. 
 
 Marjorie poured maple^ syrup on her tone, as she 
 purred: "This train of yours is an awfully fast train, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 180
 
 DELILAH AND THE CONDUCTOR 187 
 
 "Sort of," said the conductor, with just a trace of 
 thaw. What followed made him hold his breath, 
 for the outrageous little hussy was actually saying: 
 "The company must have a great deal of confidence 
 in you to entrust the lives and welfare of so many 
 people to your presence of mind and courage." 
 
 "Well, of course, I can't say as to that " Even 
 
 Mallory could see that the man's reserve was melt- 
 ing fast as Marjorie went on with relentless treacle: 
 
 "Talk about soldiers and firemen and life-savers! 
 I think it takes a braver man than any of those to be 
 a -conductor really." 
 
 "Well, it is a kind of a responsible job." The 
 conductor swelled his chest a little at that, and Mar- 
 jorie felt that he was already hers. She hammered 
 the weak spot in his armor: 
 
 "Responsible! I should say it is. Mr. Mallory 
 is a soldier, but soldiers are such ferocious, destruc- 
 tive people, while conductors save lives, and if I 
 were only a man I think it would be my greatest 
 ambition to be a conductor especially on an over- 
 land express." 
 
 The conductor told the truth, when he confessed: 
 "Well, I never heard it put just that way." Then 
 he spoke with a little more pride, hoping to increase 
 the impression he felt he was making: "The main 
 thing, of course, is to get my train through On 
 Time!" 
 
 This was a facer. He was going to get his train
 
 188 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 through On Time just to oblige Marjorie. She stam- 
 mered: 
 
 "I don't suppose the train, by any accident, would 
 be delayed in leaving Ogden?" 
 
 "Not if I can help it," the hero averred, to reas- 
 sure her. 
 
 "I wish it would," Marjorie murmured. 
 
 The conductor looked at her in surprise: "Why, 
 what's it to you?" She turned her eyes on him at 
 full candle power, and smiled: 
 
 "Oh, I just wanted to do a little shopping there." 
 
 "Shopping ! While the train waits ! Excuse me !" 
 
 "You see," Marjorie fluttered, "by a sad mistake, 
 my baggage isn't on the train. And I haven't any 
 any I really need to buy some some things very 
 badly. It's awfully embarrassing to be without 
 them." 
 
 "I can imagine," the conductor mumbled. "Why 
 don't you and your husband drop off and take the 
 next train?" 
 
 "My husb Mr. Mallory has to be in San Fran- 
 cisco by to-morrow night. He just has to!" 
 
 "So have I." 
 
 "But to oblige me? To save me from distress 
 don't you think you could ?" Like a sweet little child 
 she twisted one of the brass buttons on his coat 
 sleeve, and wheedled: "Don't you think you might 
 hold the train just a little tiny half hour?" 
 
 He was sorry, but he didn't see how he could.
 
 DELILAH AND THE CONDUCTOR 189 
 
 Then she took his breath away again by asking, out 
 of a clear sky: "Are you married?" 
 
 He was as awkward as if she had proposed to 
 him, she answered for him: "Oh, but of course you 
 are. The women wouldn't let a big, handsome, noble 
 brave giant like you escape long." He mopped his 
 brow in agony as she went on: "I'm sure you're a 
 very chivalrous man. I'm sure you would give your 
 life to rescue a maiden in distress. Well, here's your 
 chance. Won't you please hold the train?" 
 
 She actually had her cheek almost against his 
 shoulder, though she had to poise atiptoe to reach 
 him. Mallory's dismay was changing to a boiling 
 rage, and the conductor was a pitiable combination 
 of Saint Anthony and Tantalus. "I I'd love to 
 oblige you," he mumbled, "but it would be as much 
 as my job's worth." 
 
 "How much is that?" Marjorie asked, and added 
 reassuringly, "If you lost your job I'm sure my father 
 would get you a better one." 
 
 "Maybe," said the conductor, "but I got this 
 one." 
 
 Then his rolling eyes caught sight of the supposed 
 husband gesticulating wildly and evidently clearing 
 for action. He warned Marjorie: "Say, your hus- 
 band is motioning at you." 
 
 "Don't mind him," Marjorie urged, "just listen 
 
 to me. I implore you. I " Seeing that he was 
 
 still resisting, she played her last card, and, crying,
 
 190 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Oh, you can't resist my prayers so cruelly," she 
 threw her arms around his neck, sobbing, "Do you 
 want to break my heart?" 
 
 Mallory rushed into the scene and the conductor, 
 tearing Marjorie's arms loose, retreated, gasping, 
 "No ! and I don't want your husband to break my 
 head." 
 
 Mallory dragged Marjorie away, but she shook 
 her little fist at the conductor, crying: "Do you 
 refuse? Do you dare refuse?" 
 
 "I've got to," the conductor abjectly insisted. 
 
 Marjorie blazed with fury and the siren became 
 a Scylla. "Then I'll see that my father gets you dis- 
 charged. If you dare to speak to me again, I'll 
 order my husband to throw you off this train. To 
 think of being refused a simple little favor by a 
 mere conductor! of a stupid old emigrant train!! of 
 all things!!!" 
 
 Then she hurled herself into a chair and pounded 
 her heels on the floor in a tantrum that paralyzed 
 Mallory. Even the conductor tapped him on the 
 shoulder and said: "You have my sympathy."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE DOG-ON DOG AGAIN 
 
 As the conductor left the Mallorys to their own 
 devices, it rushed over him anew what sacrilege had 
 been attempted a fool bride had asked him to stop 
 the Trans-American of all trains! to go shopping 
 of all things ! 
 
 He stormed into the smoking room to open the 
 safety valve of his wrath, and found the porter just 
 coming out of the buffet cell with a tray, two hollow- 
 stemmed glasses and a bottle swaddled in a napkin. 
 
 "Say, Ellsworth, what in do you suppose 
 
 that female back there wants? wants me to hold 
 the Trans-American while " 
 
 But the porter was in a flurry himself. He was 
 about to serve champagne, and he cut the conductor 
 short : 
 
 " 'Scuse me, boss, but they's a lovin' couple in the 
 stateroom forward that is in a powerful hurry for 
 this. I can't talk to you now. I'll see you later." 
 And he swaggered off, leaving the door of the buffet 
 open. The conductor paused to close it, glanced in, 
 started, stared, glared, roared: "What's this! 
 Well, I'll be a dog smuggled in here! I'll break 
 
 191
 
 192 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 that coon's head. Come out of there, you miserable 
 or'nary hound." He seized the incredulous Snoozle- 
 ums by the scruff of his neck, growling, "It's you 
 for the baggage car ahead," and dashed out with 
 his prey, just as Mallory, now getting new bearings 
 on Marjorie's character, spoke across the rampart 
 of his Napoleonically folded arms: 
 
 "Well, you're a nice one ! making violent love 
 to a conductor before my very eyes. A minute more 
 and I would have " 
 
 She silenced him with a snap: "Don't you speak 
 to me! I hate you! I hate all men. The more I 
 
 know men the more I like " this reminded her, 
 
 and she asked anxiously: "Where is Snoozleums?" 
 
 Mallory, impatient at the shift of subject, snapped 
 back: "Oh, I left him in the buffet with the waiter. 
 What I want to know is how you dare to " 
 
 "Was it a colored waiter?" 
 
 "Of course. But I'm not speaking of " 
 
 "But suppose he should bite him?" 
 
 "Oh, you can't hurt those nigger waiters. I 
 started to say " 
 
 "But I can't have Snoozleums biting colored 
 people. It might not agree with him. Get him at 
 once." 
 
 Mallory trembled with suppressed rage like an 
 overloaded boiler, but he gave up and growled: 
 "Oh, Lord, all right. I'll get him when I've fin- 
 ished "
 
 THE DOG-ON DOG AGAIN 193 
 
 "Go get him this minute. And bring the poor dar- 
 ting back to his mother." 
 
 "His mother! Ye gods!" cried Mallory, wildly. 
 He turned away and dashed into the men's room 
 with a furious: "Where's that damned dog?" 
 
 He met the porter just returning. The porter 
 smiled: "He's right in heah, sir," and opened the 
 buffet door. His eyes popped and his jaw sagged: 
 "Why, I lef him here just a minute ago." 
 
 "You left the window open, too," Mallory ob- 
 served. "Well, I guess he's gone." 
 
 The porter was panic stricken: "Oh, I'm turrible 
 sorry, boss, I wouldn't have lost dat dog for a for- 
 tune. If you was to hit me with a axe I wouldn't 
 mind." 
 
 To his utter befuddlement, Mallory grinned and 
 winked at him, and murmured: "Oh, that's all 
 right. Don't worry." And actually laid half a dol- 
 lar in his palm. Leaving the black lids batting over 
 the starting eyes, Mallory pulled his smile into a 
 long face and went back to Marjorie like an under- 
 taker: "My love, prepare yourself for bad news." 
 
 Marjorie looked up, startled and apprehensive: 
 "Snoozleums is ill. He did bite the darkey." 
 
 "Worse than that he he fell out of the win- 
 dow." 
 
 "When!" she shrieked, "in heaven's name 
 when?" 
 
 "He was there just a minute ago, the waiter says."
 
 194 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Marjorie went into instant hysterics, wringing her 
 hands and sobbing : "Oh, my darling, my poor child 
 stop the train at once!" 
 
 She began to pound Mallory's shoulders and 
 shake him frantically. He had never seen her this 
 way either. He was getting his education in advance. 
 He tried to calm her with inexpert words: "How 
 can I stop the train? Now, dearie, he was a nice 
 dog, but after all, he was only a dog." 
 
 She rounded on him like a panther : "Only a dog ! 
 He was worth a dozen men like you. You find the 
 conductor at once, command him to stop this train 
 and back up! I don't care if he has to go back ten 
 miles. Run, tell him at once. Now, you run!" 
 
 Mallory stared at her as if she had gone mad, 
 but he set out to run somewhere, anywhere. Mar- 
 jorie paced up and down distractedly, tearing her 
 hair and moaning, "Snoozleums, Snoozleums! My 
 child. My poor child !" At length her wildly roving 
 eyes noted the bell rope. She stared, pondered, 
 nodded her head, clutched at it, could not reach it, 
 jumped for it several times in vain, then seized a 
 chair, swung it into place, stood up in it, gripped 
 the rope, and came down on it with all her weight, 
 dropping to the floor and jumping up and down 
 in a frenzied dance. In the distance the engine could 
 be heard faintly whistling, whistling for every 
 pull. 
 
 The engineer, far ahead, could not imagine what
 
 THE DOG-ON DOG AGAIN 195 
 
 unheard-of crisis could bring about such mad signals. 
 The fireman yelled: 
 
 "I bet that crazy conductor is attacked with an 
 epilettic fit." 
 
 But there was no disputing the command. The 
 engine was reversed, the air brakes set, the sand run 
 out and every effort made to pull the iron horse, as 
 it were, back on its haunches. 
 
 The grinding, squealing, jolting, shook the train 
 like an earthquake. The shrieking of the whistle 
 froze the blood like a woman's cry of "Murder!" 
 in the night. The women among the passengers 
 echoed the screams. The men turned pale and 
 braced themselves for the shock of collision. Some 
 of them were mumbling prayers. Dr. Temple and 
 Jimmie Wellington, with one idea in their dissimilar 
 souls, dashed from the smoking room to go to their 
 wives. 
 
 Ashton and Wedgewood, with no one to care for 
 but themselves, seized windows and tried to fight 
 them open. At last they budged a sash and knelt 
 down to thrust their heads out. 
 
 "I don't see a beastly thing ahead," said Wedge- 
 wood, "except the heads of other fools." 
 
 "We're slowing down though," said Ashton, "she 
 stops! We're safe. Thank God!" And he col- 
 lapsed into a chair. Wedgewood collapsed into an- 
 other, gasping: "Whatevah are we safe from, I 
 wondah?"
 
 196 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 The train-crew and various passengers descended 
 and ran. alongside the train asking questions. Panic 
 gave way to mystery. Even Dr. Temple came back 
 into the smoking room to finish a precious cigar he 
 had been at work on. He was followed by Little 
 Jimmie, who had not quite reached his wife when 
 the stopping of the train put an end to his excuse 
 for chivalry. He was regretfully mumbling: 
 
 "It would have been such a good shansh to shave 
 my life's wife I mean my I don't know what I 
 mean." He sank into a chair and ordered a drink; 
 then suddenly remembered his vow, and with great 
 heroism, rescinded the order. 
 
 Mallory, finding that the train was checked just 
 before he reached the conductor, saw that official's 
 bewildered wrath at the stoppage and had a fear- 
 some intuition that Marjorie had somehow done the 
 deed. He hurried back to the observation room, 
 where he found her charging up and down, still dis- 
 traught. He paused at a safe distance and said: 
 
 "The train has stopped, my dear. Somebody rang 
 the bell." 
 
 "I guess somebody did !" Marjorie answered, with 
 a proud toss of the head. "Where's the conductor?" 
 
 "He's looking for the fellow that pulled the 
 rope." 
 
 "You go tell him to back up and slowly, too." 
 
 "No, thank you !" said Mallory. He was a biave 
 young man, but he was not bearding the conductors
 
 THE DOG-ON DOG AGAIN 197 
 
 of stopped expresses. Already the conductor's voice 
 was heard in the smoking room, where he appeared 
 with the rush and roar of a Bashan bull. "Well!" 
 he bellowed, "which one of you guys pulled that 
 rope?" 
 
 "It was nobody here, sir," Dr. Temple meekly 
 explained. The conductor transfixed him with a 
 baleful glare: "I wouldn't believe a gambler on 
 oath. I bet you did it." 
 
 "I assure you, sir," Wedgewood interposed, "he 
 didn't touch it. I was heah." 
 
 The conductor waved him aside and charged into 
 the observation room, followed by all the passen- 
 gers in an awe struck rabble. Here, too, the conduc- 
 tor thundered: "Who pulled that rope? Speak up 
 somebody." 
 
 Mallory was about to sacrifice himself to save 
 Marjorie, but she met the conductor's black rage 
 with the withering contempt of a young queen: "I 
 pulled the old rope. Whom did you suppose?" 
 
 The conductor almost dropped with apoplexy at 
 finding himself with nobody to vent his immense rage 
 on, but this pink and white slip. "You!" he gulped, 
 
 "well, what in Say, in the name of why, don't 
 
 you know it's a penitentiary offense to stop a train 
 this way?" 
 
 Marjorie tossed her head a little higher, grew a 
 little calmer: "What do I care? I want you to 
 back up."
 
 198 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 The conductor was reduced to a wet rag, a feeble 
 echo: "Back up the tram up?" 
 
 "Yes, back the train up," Marjorie answered, res- 
 olutely, "and go slowly till I tell you to stop." 
 
 The conductor stared at her a moment, then 
 whirled on Mallory : "Say, what in hell's the matter 
 with your wife?" 
 
 Mallory was saved from the problem of answer- 
 ing by Marjorie's abrupt change from a young Tsar- 
 ina rebuking a serf, to a terrified mother. She flung 
 out imploring palms and with a gush of tears 
 pleaded: "Won't you please back up? My darling 
 child fell off the train." 
 
 The conductor's rage fell away in an instant. 
 "Your child fell off the train!" he gasped. "Good 
 Lord! How old was he?" 
 
 With one hand he was groping for the bell cord 
 to give the signal, with the other he opened the door 
 to look back along the track. 
 
 "He was two years old," Marjorie sobbed. 
 
 "Oh, that's too bad!" the conductor groaned. 
 "What did he look like?" 
 
 "He had a pink ribbon round his neck." 
 
 "A pink ribbon oh, the poor little fellow! the 
 poor little fellow!" 
 
 "And a long curly tail." 
 
 The conductor swung round with a yell : "A curly 
 tail! your son?" 
 
 "My dog!" Marjorie roared back at him.
 
 THE DOG-ON DOG AGAIN 199 
 
 The conductor's voice cracked weakly as he 
 shrieked: "Your dog! You stopped this train for 
 a fool dog?" 
 
 "He wasn't a fool dog," Marjorie retorted, facing 
 him down, "he knows more than you do." 
 
 The conductor threw up his hands : "Well, don't 
 
 you women beat ' He studied Marjorie as if 
 
 she were some curious freak of nature. Suddenly an 
 idea struck into his daze : "Say, what kind of a dog 
 was it? a measly little cheese-hound?" 
 
 "He was a noble, beautiful soul with wonderful 
 eyes and adorable ears." 
 
 The conductor was growing weaker and weaker: 
 "Well, don't worry. I got him. He's in the bag- 
 gage car." 
 
 Marjorie stared at him unbelievingly. The news 
 seemed too gloriously beautiful to be true. "He 
 isn't dead Snoozleums is not dead!" she cried, "he 
 lives ! He lives ! You have saved him." And once 
 more she flung herself upon the conductor. He 
 tried to bat her off like a gnat, and Mallory came 
 to his rescue by dragging her away and shoving her 
 into a chair. But she saw only the noble conductor: 
 "Oh, you dear, good, kind angel. Get him at 
 once." 
 
 "He stays in the baggage car," the conductor an- 
 swered, firmly and as he supposed, finally. 
 
 "But Snoozleums doesn't like baggage cars," Mar- 
 jorie smiled. "He won't ride in one."
 
 200 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "He'll ride in this one or I'll wring his neck." 
 
 "You fiend in human flesh!" Marjorie shrank 
 away from him in horror, and he found courage to 
 seize the bell rope and yank it viciously with a sar- 
 donic: "Please, may I start this train?" 
 
 The whistle tooted faintly. The bell began to 
 hammer, the train to creak and writhe and click. 
 The conductor pulled his cap down hard and started 
 forward. Marjorie seized his sleeve: "Oh, I im- 
 plore you, don't consign that poor sweet child to the 
 horrid baggage car. If you have a human heart in 
 your breast, hear my prayer." 
 
 The conductor surrendered unconditionally : "Oh, 
 Lord, all right, all right. I'll lose my job, but if 
 you'll keep quiet, I'll bring him to you." And he 
 slunk out meekly, followed by the passengers, w r ho 
 were shaking their heads in wonderment at this most 
 amazing feat of this most amazing bride. 
 
 When they were alone once more, Marjorie as 
 radiant as April after a storm, turned her sunshiny 
 smile on Mallory: 
 
 "Isn't it glorious to have our little Snoozleums 
 alive and well ?" 
 
 But Mallory was feeling like a March day. He 
 answered with a sleety chill: "You care more for 
 the dog than you do for me." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I ?" Marjorie answered with wide 
 eyes, "Snoozleums never would have brought me on
 
 THE DOG-ON DOG AGAIN 201 
 
 a wild goose elopement like this. Heaven knows 
 he didn't want to come." 
 
 Mallory repeated the indictment: "You love a 
 dog better than you love your husband." 
 
 "My what?" Marjorie laughed, then she spoke 
 with lofty condescension : "Harry Mallory, if you're 
 going to be jealous of that dog, I'll never marry 
 you the longest day I live." 
 
 "So you'll let a dog come between us?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "I wouldn't give up Snoozleums for a hundred 
 husbands," she retorted. 
 
 "I'm glad to know it in time," Mallory said. 
 "You'd better give me back that wedding ring." 
 
 Marjorie's heart stopped at this, but her pride 
 was in arms. She drew herself up, slid the ring 
 from her finger, and held it out as if she scorned it: 
 "With pleasure. Good afternoon, Mr. Mallory." 
 
 Mallory took it as if it were the merest trifle, 
 bowed and murmured: "Good afternoon, Miss 
 Newton." 
 
 He stalked out and she turned her back on him. 
 A casual witness would have said that they were too 
 indifferent to each other even to feel anger. As a 
 matter of romantic fact, each was on fire with love, 
 and aching madly with regret. Each longed for 
 strength to whirl round with outflung arms of recon- 
 ciliation, and neither could be so brave. And so 
 they parted, each harking back fiercely for one word
 
 202 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 of recall from the other. But neither spoke, and 
 Marjorie sat staring at nothing through raining eyes, 
 while Mallory strode into the Men's Room as mel- 
 ancholy as Hamlet with Yorick's skull in his hands. 
 It was their first great quarrel, and they were 
 sonvinced that the world might as well come to an 
 end.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 THE WOMAN-HATER'S RELAPSE 
 
 THE observation room was as lonely as a de- 
 serted battle-field and Marjorie as doleful as a 
 grounded soldier left behind, and perishing of thirst, 
 when the conductor came back with Snoozleums in 
 his arms. 
 
 He regarded with contemptuous awe the petty 
 cause of so great an event as the stopping of the 
 Trans-American. He expected to see Marjorie re- 
 ceive the returned prodigal with wild rapture, but 
 she didn't even smile when he said: 
 
 "Here's your powder-puff." 
 
 She just took Snoozleums on her lap, and, looking 
 up with wet eyes and a sad smile, murmured: 
 
 "Thank you very much. You're the nicest con- 
 ductor I ever met. If you ever want another posi- 
 tion, I'll see that my father gets you one." 
 
 It was like offering the Kaiser a new job, but the 
 conductor swallowed the insult and sought to repay 
 it with irony. 
 
 "Thanks. And if you ever want to run this road 
 for a couple of weeks, just let me know." 
 
 203
 
 204 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Marjorie nodded appreciatively and said : "I will. 
 You're very kind." 
 
 And that completed the rout of that conductor. 
 He retired in disorder, leaving Marjorie to fondle 
 Snoozleums with a neglectful indifference that would 
 have greatly flattered Mallory, if he could have seen 
 through the partition that divided them. 
 
 But he was witnessing with the cynical superiority 
 of an aged and disillusioned man the, to him, childish 
 behavior of Ira Lathrop, an eleventh-hour Or- 
 lando. 
 
 For just as Mallory moped into the smoking-room 
 at one door, Ira Lathrop swept in at the other, his 
 face rubicund with embarrassment and ecstasy. He 
 had donned an old frock coat with creases like ruts 
 from long exile in his trunk. But he was feeling 
 like an heir apparent; and he startled everybody by 
 his jovial hail: 
 
 "Well, boys er gentlemen the drinks are on 
 me. Waiter, take the orders." 
 
 Little Jimmie woke with a start, rose hastily to 
 his feet and saluted, saying: "Present! Who said 
 take the orders?" 
 
 "I did," said Lathrop, "I'm giving a party. 
 Waiter, take the orders." 
 
 "Sarsaparilla," said Dr. Temple, but they howled 
 him down and ordered other things. The porter 
 shook his head sadly: "Nothin' but sof drinks in 
 Utah, gemmen."
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER'S RELAPSE 205 
 
 A groan went up from the club-members, and 
 Lathrop groaned loudest of all: 
 
 "Well, we've got to drink something. Take the 
 orders. We'll all have sarsaparilla." 
 
 Little Jimmie Wellington came to the rescue. 
 
 "Don't do anything desperate, gentlemen," he 
 said, with a look of divine philanthropy. "The bar's 
 closed, but Little Jimmie Wellington is here with the 
 life preserver." From his hip-pocket he produced a 
 silver flask that looked to be big enough to carry a 
 regiment through the Alps. It was greeted with a 
 salvo, and Lathrop said to Jimmie: "I apologize 
 for everything I have said and thought about 
 you." He turned to the porter: "There ain't any 
 law against giving this away, is there?" 
 
 The porter grinned: "Not if you-all bribe the 
 exercise-inspector." And he held out a glass for the 
 bribe, murmuring, "Don't git tired," as it was 
 poured. He set it inside his sanctum and then bustled 
 round with ice-filled glasses and a siphon. 
 
 When Little Jimmie offered of the flask to Dr. 
 Temple, the clergyman put out his hand with a po- 
 litely horrified: "No, thank you." 
 
 Lathrop frightened him with a sudden comment: 
 "Look at that gesture! Doc, I'd almost swear you 
 were a parson." 
 
 Mallory whirled on him with the eyes of a hawk 
 about to pounce, and "The very idea!" was the best 
 disclaimer Dr. Temple could manage, suddenly find-
 
 206 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 ing himself suspected. Ashton put in with, "The 
 only way to disprove it, Doc, is to join us." 
 
 The poor old clergyman, too deeply involved in 
 his deception to brave confession now, decided to 
 do and dare all. He stammered, "Er ah cer- 
 tainly," and held out his hand for his share of the 
 poison. Little Jimmie winked at the others and 
 almost filled the glass. The innocent doctor bowed 
 his thanks. When the porter reached him and pre- 
 pared to fill the remainder of the glass from the 
 siphon, the parson waved him aside with a misguided 
 caution: 
 
 "No, thanks. I'll not mix them." 
 
 Mallory turned away with a sigh: "He takes 
 his straight. He's no parson." 
 
 Then they forgot the doctor in curiosity as to 
 Lathrop's sudden spasm of generosity with Wel- 
 lington's liquor. Wedgewood voiced the general cu- 
 riosity when he said: 
 
 "What's the old woman-hater up to now?" 
 
 "Woman-hater?" laughed Ira. "It's the old story. 
 I'm going to follow Mallory's example mar- 
 riage." 
 
 "I hope you succeed," said Mallory. 
 
 "Wherever did you pick up the bride?" said 
 Wedgewood, mellowing with the long glass in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Brides are easy," said Mallory, with surprising 
 cynicism. "Where do you get the parson?"
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER'S RELAPSE 207 
 
 "Hang the parson," Wedgewood repeated, 
 "Who's the gel?" 
 
 "I'll bet I know who she is," Ashton interposed; 
 "it's that nectarine of a damsel who got on at Green 
 River." 
 
 "Not the same!" Lathrop roared. "I found my 
 bride blooming here all the while. Girl I used to 
 spark back in Brattleboro, Vermont. I've been vow- 
 ing for years that I'd live and die an old maid. I've 
 kept my head out of the noose all this time till I 
 struck this train and met up with Anne. We got 
 to talking over old times waking up old sentiments. 
 She got on my nerves. I got on hers. Finally I 
 said, 'Aw, hell, let's get married. Save price of one 
 stateroom to China anyway.' She says, 'Damned if 
 I don't!' or words to that effect." 
 
 Mallory broke in with feverish interest: "But 
 you said you were going to get married on this 
 
 train." 
 
 "Nothing easier. Here's How!" and he raised 
 
 his glass, but Mallory hauled it down to demand: 
 
 "How? that's what I want to know. How are you 
 
 going to get married on this parsonless express. 
 
 Have you got a little minister in your suitcase?" 
 
 Ira beamed with added pride as he explained: 
 
 "Well, you see, when I used to court Anne I had 
 
 a rival Charlie Selby his name was. I thought he 
 
 cut me out, but he became a clergyman in Utah Oh, 
 
 Charlie! I telegraphed him that I was passing
 
 208 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 through Ogden, and would he come down to the 
 train and marry me to a charming lady. He always 
 wanted to marry Anne. I thought it would be a 
 durned good joke to let him marry her to me." 
 
 "D-did he accept?" Mallory asked, excitedly, "is 
 he coming?" 
 
 "He is he did here's his telegram," said Ira. 
 "He brings the license and the ring." He passed 
 it over, and as Mallory read it a look of hope spread 
 across his face. But Ira was saying: "We're going 
 to have the wedding obsequies right here in this car. 
 You're all invited. Will you come?" 
 
 There was a general yell of acceptance and Ash- 
 ton began to sing, "There was I waiting at the 
 church." Then he led a sort of Indian war-dance 
 round the next victim of the matrimonial stake. At 
 the end of the hullaballoo all the men charged their 
 glasses, and drained them with an uproarious 
 "How!" 
 
 Poor Doctor Temple had taken luxurious delight 
 in the success of his disguise and in the prospect of 
 watching some other clergyman working while he 
 rested. He joined the dance as ga'ily, if not as 
 gracefully, as any of the rest, and in a final triumph 
 of recklessness, he tossed off a bumper of straight 
 whisky. 
 
 Instantly his "How!" changed to "Wow!" and 
 then his throat clamped fast with a terrific spasm 
 that flung the tears from his eyes. He bent and
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER'S RELAPSE 209 
 
 writhed in a silent paroxysm till he was pounded and 
 shaken back to life and water poured down his throat 
 to reopen a passage. 
 
 The others thought he had merely choked and 
 made no comment other than sympathy. They could 
 not have dreamed that the old "physician" was as 
 ignorant of the taste as of the vigor of pure 
 spirits. 
 
 After a riot of handshaking and good wishes, Ira 
 was permitted to escape with his life. Mallory fol- 
 lowed him to the vestibule, where he caught him 
 by the sleeve with an anxious: 
 
 "Excuse me." 
 
 "Well, my boy " 
 
 "Your minister after you get through with him 
 may I use him ?" 
 
 "May you what? Why do you want a minis- 
 ter?" 
 
 "To get married." 
 
 "Again? Good Lord, are you a Mormon?" 
 
 "Me a Mormon!" 
 
 "Then what do you want with an extra wife ? It's 
 against the law even in Utah." 
 
 "You don't understand." 
 
 "My boy, one of us is disgracefully drunk." 
 
 "Well, I'm not," said Mallory, and then after a 
 fierce inner debate, he decided to take Lathrop into 
 his confidence. The words came hard after so long 
 a duplicity, but at last they were out:
 
 210 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Mr. Lathrop, I'm not really married t* my 
 wife." 
 
 "You young scoundrel !" 
 
 But his fury changed to pity when he heard the 
 history of Mallory's ill-fated efforts, and he prom- 
 ised not only to lend Mallory his minister at second- 
 hand, but also to keep the whole affair a secret, for 
 Mallory explained his intention of having his own 
 ceremony in the baggage-car, or somewhere out of 
 sight of the other passengers. 
 
 Mallory's face was now aglow as the cold embers 
 of hope leaped into sudden blaze. He wrung La- 
 throp's hand, saying: "Lord love you, you've saved 
 my life wife both." 
 
 Then he turned and ran to Marjorie with the good 
 news. He had quite forgotten their epoch-making 
 separation. And she was so glad to see him smiling 
 at her again that she forgot it, too. He came tear- 
 ing into the observation room and took her by the 
 shoulders, whispering: "Oh, Marjorie, Marjorie, 
 I've got him! I've got him!" 
 
 "No, I've got him," she said, swinging Snoozleums 
 into view. 
 
 Mallory swung him back out of the way : "I don't 
 mean a poodle, I mean a parson. I've got a par- 
 son." 
 
 "No! I can't believe it! Where is he?" She 
 began to dance with delight, but she stopped when 
 he explained:
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER'S RELAPSE 211 
 
 "Well, I haven't got him yet, but I'm going to 
 get one." 
 
 "What again?" she groaned, weary of this old 
 bunco game of hope. 
 
 "It's a real live one this time," Mallory insisted. 
 "Mr. Lathrop has ordered a minister and he's going 
 to lend him to me as soon as he's through with him, 
 and we'll be married on this train." 
 
 Marjorie was overwhelmed, but she felt it becom- 
 ing in her to be a trifle coy. So she pouted: "But 
 you won't want me for a bride now. I'm such a 
 fright." 
 
 He took the bait, hook and all: "I never saw 
 you looking so adorable." 
 
 "Honestly? Oh, but it will be glorious to be Mrs. 
 First Lieutenant Mallory." 
 
 "Glorious!" 
 
 "I must telegraph home and sign my new name. 
 Won't mamma be pleased?" 
 
 "Won't she?" said Mallory, with just a trace of 
 dubiety. 
 
 Then Marjorie grew serious with a new idea : "I 
 wonder if mamma and papa have missed me yet?" 
 
 Mallory laughed: "After three days' disappear- 
 ance, I shouldn't be surprised." 
 
 "Perhaps they are worrying about me." 
 
 "I shouldn't be surprised." 
 
 "The poor dears! I'd better write them a tele- 
 gram at once."
 
 212 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "An excellent idea." 
 
 She ran to the desk, found blank forms and then 
 paused with knitted brow: "It will be very hard to 
 say all I've got to say in ten words." 
 
 "Hang the expense," Mallory sniffed magnifi- 
 cently, "I'm paying your bills now." 
 
 But Marjorie tried to look very matronly: "Send 
 r night letter in the day time ! No, indeed, we must 
 begin to economize." 
 
 Mallory was touched by this new revelation of 
 her future housewifely thrift. He hugged her hard 
 and reminded her that she could send a day-letter 
 by wire. 
 
 "An excellent idea," she said. "Now, don't 
 bother me. You go on and read your paper, read 
 about Mattie. I'll never be jealous of her him 
 of anybody again." 
 
 "You shall never have cause for jealousy, my 
 
 own." 
 
 But fate was not finished with the initiation of 
 the unfortunate pair, and already new trouble was 
 strolling in their direction.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 JEALOUSY COMES ABOARD 
 
 THERE was an air of domestic peace in the ob- 
 servation room, where Mallory and Marjorie had 
 been left to themselves for some time. But the 
 peace was like the ominous hush that precedes a tem- 
 pest. 
 
 Mallory was so happy with everything coming his 
 way, that he was even making up with Snoozleums, 
 stroking the tatted coat with one hand and holding 
 up his newspaper with the other. He did not know 
 all that was coming his way. The blissful silence was 
 broken first by Marjorie: 
 
 "How do you spell Utah? with a y?" 
 
 "Utah begins with You," he said and rather 
 liked his wit, listened for some recognition, and rose 
 to get it, but she waved him away. 
 
 "Don't bother me, honey. Can't you see I'm 
 busy?" 
 
 He kissed her hair and sauntered back, dividing 
 his attention between Snoozleums and the ten-inning 
 game. 
 
 And now there was a small commotion in the 
 
 213
 
 214 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 smoking room. Through the glass along the corri- 
 dor the men caught sight of the girl who had got 
 on at Green River. Ashton saw her first and she 
 saw him. 
 
 "There she goes," Ashton hissed to the others, 
 "look quick! There's the nectarine." 
 
 "My word! She's a litle bit of all right, isn't 
 she?" 
 
 Even Dr. Temple stared at her with approval : 
 "Dear little thing, isn't she?" 
 
 The girl, very consciously unconscious of the ad- 
 miration, moved demurely along, with eyes down- 
 t.jst, but at such an angle that she could take in the 
 sensation she was creating; she went along picking 
 up stares as if they were bouquets. 
 
 Her demeanor was a remarkable compromise be- 
 tween outrageous 6irtation and perfect respectabil- 
 ity. But she was looking back so intently that when 
 she moved into the observation room she walked 
 right into the newspaper Mallory was holding out 
 before him. 
 
 Both said: "I beg your pardon." 
 
 When Mallory lowered the paper, both stated 
 till their eyes almost popped. Her amazement was 
 one of immediate rapture. He looked as if he would 
 have been much obliged for a volcanic crater to sink 
 into. 
 
 "Harry!" she gasped, and let fall her handbag. 
 
 "Kitty!" he gasped, and let fall his newspaper.
 
 JEALOUSY COMES ABOARD 215 
 
 Both bent, he handed her the newspaper and tossed 
 the handbag into a chair; saw his mistake, withdrew 
 the newspaper and proffered her Snoozleums. Mar- 
 jorie stopped writing, pen poised in air, as if she had 
 suddenly been petrified. 
 
 The newcomer was the first to speak. She fairly 
 gushed: "Harry Mallory of all people." 
 
 "Kitty! Kathleen! Miss Lewellyn!" 
 
 "Just to think of meeting you again." 
 
 "Just to think of it." 
 
 "And on this train of all places." 
 
 "On this train of all places!" 
 
 "Oh, Harry, Harry!" 
 
 "Oh, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" 
 
 "You dear fellow, it's so long since I saw you 
 last." 
 
 "So long." 
 
 "It was at that last hop at West Point, remem- 
 ber? why, it seems only yesterday, and how well 
 you are looking. You are well, aren't you ?" 
 
 "Not very." He was mopping his brow in an- 
 guish, and yet the room seemed strangely cold. 
 
 "Of course you look much better in your uniform. 
 You aren't wearing your uniform, are you?" 
 
 "No, this is not my uniform." 
 
 "You haven't left the army, have you?" 
 
 "I don't know yet." 
 
 "Don't ever do that. You are just beautiful in 
 brass buttons."
 
 216 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 "Harry!" 
 
 "What's the matter now?" 
 
 "This tie, this green tie, isn't this the one I knitted 
 you?" 
 
 "I am sure I don't know, I borrowed it from the 
 conductor." 
 
 "Don't you remember? I did knit you one." 
 
 "Did you? I believe you did! I think I wore 
 it out." 
 
 "Oh, you fickle boy. But see what I have. What's 
 this?" 
 
 He stared through the glassy eyes of complete 
 helplessness. "It looks like a bracelet." 
 
 "Don't tell me you don't remember this! the 
 little bangle bracelet you gave me." 
 
 "D-did I give you a baygled branglet?" 
 
 "Of course you did. And the inscription. Don't 
 you remember it?" 
 
 She held her wrist in front of his aching eyes and 
 he perused as if it were his own epitaph, what she 
 read aloud for him. "From Harry to Kitty, the Only 
 Girl I Ever Loved." 
 
 "Good night!" he sighed to himself, and began to 
 mop his brow with Snoozleums. 
 
 "You put it on my arm," said Kathleen, with a 
 moonlight sigh, "and I've always worn it." 
 
 "Always?" 
 
 "Always ! no matter whom I was engaged to."
 
 JEALOUSY COMES ABOARD 217 
 
 The desperate wretch, who had not dared even 
 to glance in Marjorie's direction, somehow thought 
 he saw a straw of self-defense. "You were enga'ged 
 to three or four others when I was at West Point." 
 
 "I may have been engaged to the others," said 
 Kathleen, moon-eyeing him, "but I always liked you 
 best, Clifford er, Tommy I mean Harry." 
 
 "You got me at last." 
 
 Kathleen fenced back at this: "Well, I've no 
 doubt you have had a dozen affairs since." 
 
 "Oh, no! My heart has only known one real 
 love." He threw this over her head at Marjorie, 
 but Kathleen seized it, to his greater confusion: "Oh, 
 Harry, how sweet of you to say it. It makes me 
 feel positively faint," and she swooned his way, but 
 he shoved a chair forward and let her collapse into 
 that. Thinking and hoping that she was unconscious, 
 he made ready to escape, but she caught him by the 
 coat, and moaned : "Where am I ?" and he growled 
 back: 
 
 "In the Observation Car!" 
 
 Kathleen's life and enthusiasm returned without 
 delay: "Fancy meeting you again! I could just 
 scream." 
 
 "So could I." 
 
 "You must come up in our car and see mamma." 
 
 "Is Ma-mamma with you?" Mallory stammered, 
 on the verge of imbecility. 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed, we're going around the world."
 
 218 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Don't let me detain you." 
 
 "Papa is going round the world also." 
 
 "Is papa on this train, too?" 
 
 At last something seemed to embarrass her a 
 trifle: "No, papa went on ahead. Mamma hopes 
 to overtake him. But papa is a very good traveler." 
 
 Then she changed the subject. "Do come and 
 meet mamma. It would cheer her up so. She is so 
 fond of you. Only this morning she was saying, 'Of 
 all the boys you were ever engaged to, Kathleen, the 
 one I like most of all was Edgar I mean Clarence 
 er Harry Mallory." 
 
 "Awfully kind of her." 
 
 "You must come and see her she's some stouter 
 now!" 
 
 "Oh, is she? Well, that's good." 
 
 Mallory was too angry to be sane, and too helpless 
 to take advantage of his anger. He wondered how 
 he could ever have cared for this molasses and mu- 
 cilage girl. He remembered now that she had always 
 had these same cloying ways. She had always pawed 
 him and, like everybody but the pawers, he hated 
 pawing. 
 
 It would have ben bad enough at any time to have 
 Kathleen hanging on his coat, straightening his tie, 
 leaning close, smiling up in his eyes, losing him his 
 balance, recapturing him every time he edged away. 
 But with Marjorie as the grim witness it was mad- 
 dening.
 
 JEALOUSY COMES ABOARD 219 
 
 He loathed and abominated Kathleen Llewellyn, 
 and if she had only been a man, he could cheerfully 
 have beaten her to a pulp and chucked her out of 
 the window. But because she was a helpless little 
 baggage, he had to be as polite as he could while 
 she sat and tore his plans to pieces, embittered Mar- 
 jorie's heart against him, and either ended all hopes 
 of their marriage, or furnished an everlasting rancor 
 to be recalled in every quarrel to their dying day. 
 Oh, etiquette, what injustices are endured in thy 
 name ! 
 
 So there he sat, sweating his soul's blood, and 
 able only to spar for time and wonder when the 
 gong would ring. And now she was off on a new 
 tack: 
 
 "And where are you bound for, Harry, dear?" 
 
 "The Philippines," he said, and for the first time 
 there was something beautiful in their remote- 
 ness. 
 
 "Perhaps we shall cross the Pacific on the same 
 boat." 
 
 The first sincere smile he had experienced came 
 to him: "I go on an army transport, fortu unfor- 
 tunately." 
 
 "Oh, I just love soldiers. Couldn't mamma and I 
 go on the transport? Mamma is very fond of 
 soldiers, too." 
 
 "I'm afraid it couldn't be arranged." 
 
 "'Too bad, but perhaps we can stop off and pay
 
 220 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 you a visit. I just love army posts. So does 
 mamma." 
 
 "Oh, do!" 
 
 "What will be your address?" 
 
 "Just the Philippines just the Philippines." 
 
 "But aren't there quite a few of them?" 
 
 "Only about two thousand." 
 
 "Which one will you be on?" 
 
 "I'll be on the third from the left," said Mallory, 
 who neither knew nor cared what he was saying. 
 Marjorie had endured all that she could stand. She 
 rose in a tightly leashed fury. 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm in the way." 
 
 Kathleen turned in surprise. She had not noticed 
 that anyone was near. Mallory went out of his head 
 completely. "Oh, don't go for heaven's sake 
 don't go," he appealed to Marjorie. 
 
 "A friend of yours?" said Kathleen, bristling. 
 
 "No, not a friend," in a chaotic tangle, "Mrs. 
 Miss Miss Er er er " 
 
 Kathleen smiled: "Delighted to meet you, Miss 
 Ererer." 
 
 "The pleasure is all mine," Marjorie said, with 
 an acid smile. 
 
 "Have you known Harry long?" said Kathleen, 
 jealously, "or are you just acquaintances on the 
 train ?" ~ 
 
 "We're just acquaintances on the train 1"
 
 JEALOUSY COMES ABOARD 221 
 
 "I used to know Harry very well very well in- 
 deed." 
 
 "So I should judge. You won't mind if I leave 
 you to talk over old times together?" 
 
 "How very sweet of you." 
 
 "Oh, don't mention it." 
 
 "But, Marjorie," Mallory cried, as she turned 
 away. Kathleen started at the ardor of his tone, 
 and gasped: "Marjorie! Then he you " 
 
 "Not at all not in the least," said Marjorie. 
 
 At this crisis the room was suddenly inundated 
 with people. Mrs. Whitcomb, Mrs. Wellington, 
 Mrs. Temple and Mrs. Fosdlck, all trying to look 
 like bridesmaids, danced in, shouting: 
 
 "Here they come ! Make way for the bride and 
 groom!"
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 A WEDDING ON WHEELS 
 
 THE commotion of the matrimony-mad women 
 brought the men trooping in from the smoking room 
 and there was much circumstance of decorating the 
 scene with white satin ribbons, a trifle crumpled and 
 dim of luster. Mrs. Whitcomb waved them at Mai- 
 lory with a laugh: 
 
 "Recognize these?" 
 
 He nodded dismally. His own funeral baked 
 meats were coldly furnishing forth a wedding break- 
 fast for Ira Lathrop. Mrs. Wellington was moving 
 about distributing kazoos and Mrs. Temple had an 
 armload of old shoes, some of which had thumped 
 Mallory on an occasion which seemed so ancient 
 as to be almost prehistoric. 
 
 Fosdick was howling to the porter to get some 
 rice, quick! 
 
 "How many portions does you approximate?" 
 
 "All you've got." 
 
 "Boiled or fried?" 
 
 "Any old way." The porter ran forward to the 
 dining-car for the ammunition. 
 
 222
 
 A WEDDING ON WHEELS 223 
 
 Mrs. Temple whispered to her husband: "Too 
 bad you're not officiating, Walter." But he cau- 
 tioned silence : 
 
 "Hush! I'm on my vacation." 
 The train was already coming into Ogden. Noises 
 were multiplying and from the increase of passing 
 objects, the speed seemed to be taking on a spurt. 
 The bell was clamoring like a wedding chime in a 
 steeple. 
 
 Mrs. Wellington was on a chair fastening a ribbon 
 round one of the lamps, and Mrs. Whitcomb was 
 on another chair braiding the bell rope with withered 
 orange branches, when Ashton, with kazoo all ready, 
 called out: 
 
 "What tune shall we play?" 
 
 "I prefer the Mendelssohn Wedding March," said 
 Mrs. Whitcomb, but Mrs. Wellington glared across 
 at her. 
 
 "I've always used the Lohengrin." 
 
 "We'll play 'em both," said Dr. Temple, to make 
 peace. 
 
 Mrs. Fosdick murmured to her spouse: "The 
 old Justice of the Peace didn't give us any music at 
 all," and received in reward one of his most luscious- 
 eyed looks, and a whisper: "But he gave us each 
 other." 
 
 "Now and then," she pouted. 
 
 "But where are the bride and groom?" 
 
 "Here they come all ready," cried Ashton, and
 
 224 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 he beat time while some of the guests kazooed at 
 Mendelssohn's and some Wagner's bridal melodies, 
 and others just made a noise. 
 
 Ira Lathrop and Anne Cattle, looking very sheep- 
 ish, crowded through the narrow corridor and stood 
 shamefacedly blushing like two school children about 
 to sing a duet. 
 
 The train jolted to a dead stop. The conductor 
 called into the car : "Ogden! All out for Ogden!" 
 and everybody stood watching and waiting. 
 
 Ira, seeing Mallory, edged close and whispered: 
 "Stand by to catch the minister on the rebound." 
 
 But Mallory turned away. What use had he now 
 for ministers? His plans were shattered ruins. 
 
 The porter came flying in with two large bowls 
 of rice, and shouting, "Here comes the 'possum er 
 posson." Seeing Marjorie, he said: "Shall I per- 
 ambulate Mista Snoozleums?" 
 
 She handed the porter her only friend and he hur- 
 ried out, as a lean and professionally sad ascetic 
 hurried in. He did not recognize his boyish enemy 
 in the gray-haired, red-faced giant that greeted him. 
 but he knew that voice and its gloating irony: 
 
 "Hello, Charlie." 
 
 He had always found that when Ira grinned and 
 was cordial, some trouble was in store for him. He 
 wondered what rock Ira held behind his back now, 
 but he forced an uneasy cordiality: "And is this 
 you, Ira ? Well, well ! It is yeahs since last we met.
 
 A WEDDING ON WHEELS 225 
 
 And you're just getting married. Is this the first 
 time, Ira?" 
 
 "First offense, Charlie." 
 
 The levity shocked Selby, but a greater shock was 
 in store, for when he inquired: "And who is the 
 er happy bride?" the triumphant Lathrop snick- 
 ered: "I believe you used to know her. Anne 
 Cattle." 
 
 This was the rock behind Ira's back, and Selby 
 took it with a wince: "Not my old " 
 
 "The same. Anne, you remember, Charlie." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Anne, "How do you do, Charlie?" 
 And she put out a shy hand, which he took with one 
 still shyer. He was so unsettled that he stammered: 
 "Well, well, I had always hoped to marry you, Anne, 
 but not just this way." 
 
 Lathrop cut him short with a sharp : "Better get 
 busy before the train starts. And I'll pay you in 
 advance before you set off the fireworks." 
 
 The flippancy pained the Rev. Charles, but he 
 was resuscitated by one glance at the bill that Ira 
 thrust into his palm. If a man's gratitude for his 
 wife is measured by the size of the fee he hands the 
 enabling parson, Ira was madly in love with Anne. 
 The Rev. Charles had a reminiscent suspicion that 
 it was probably a counterfeit, but for once he did 
 Ira an injustice. 
 
 The minister was in such a flutter from losing his 
 boyhood love, and gaining so much money all at
 
 226 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 once and from performing the marriage on a train, 
 that he made numerous errors in the ceremony, but 
 nobody noticed them, and the spirit, if not the letter 
 of the occasion, was there and the contract was 
 doubtless legal enough. 
 
 The ritual began with the pleasant murmur of the 
 preacher's voice, and the passengers crowded round 
 in a solemn calm, which was suddenly violated by a 
 loud yelp of laughter from Wedgewood, who emitted 
 guffaw after guffaw and bent double and opened out 
 again, like an agitated umbrella. 
 
 The wedding-guests turned on him visages of hor- 
 ror, and hissed silence at him. Ashton seized him, 
 shook him, and muttered: 
 
 "What the what's the matter with you?" 
 
 The Englishman shook like a boy having a spasm 
 of giggles at a funeral, and blurted out the explana- 
 tion: 
 
 "That story about the bridegroom I just saw 
 the point!" 
 
 Ashton closed his jaw by brute force and watched 
 over him through the rest of the festivity.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 FOILED YET AGAIN 
 
 MALLORY had fled from the scene at the first hum 
 of the minister's words. His fate was like alkali on 
 his palate. For twelve hundred miles he had ran- 
 sacked the world for a minister. When one dropped 
 on the train like manna through the roof, even this 
 miracle had to be checkmated by a perverse miracle 
 that sent to the train an early infatuation, a silly 
 affair that he himself called puppy-love. And now 
 Marjorie would never marry him. He did not blame 
 her. He blamed fate. 
 
 He was in solitude in the smoking room. The 
 place reeked with drifting tobacco smoke and the 
 malodor of cigar stubs and cigarette ends. His 
 plans were as useless and odious as cigarette ends. 
 He dropped into a chair his elbows on his knees and 
 his head in his hands Napoleon on St. Helena. 
 
 And then, suddenly he heard Marjorie's voice. 
 He turned and saw her hesitating in the doorway. 
 He rose to welcome her, but the smile died on his 
 lips at her chilly speech : 
 
 227
 
 228 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "May I have a word with you, sir?" 
 
 "Of course. The air's rather thick in here," he 
 apologized. 
 
 "Just wait!" she said, ominously, and stalked in 
 like a young Zenobia. He put out an appealing 
 hand : "Now, Marjorie, listen to reason. Of course 
 I know you won't marry me now." 
 
 "Oh, you know that, do you?" she said, with a 
 squared jaw. 
 
 "But, really, you ought to marry me not merely 
 because I love you and you're the only girl I 
 
 ever " He stopped short and she almost smiled 
 
 as she taunted him: "Go on I dare you to say it." 
 
 He swallowed hard and waived the point: "Well, 
 anyway, you ought to marry me for your own 
 sake." 
 
 Then she took his breath away by answering: 
 "Oh, I'm going to marry you, never fear." 
 
 "You are," he cried, with a rush of returning hope. 
 "Oh, I knew you loved me." 
 
 She pushed his encircling arms aside: "I don't 
 love you, and that's why I'm going to marry you." 
 
 "But I don't understand." 
 
 "Of course not," she sneered, as if she were a 
 thousand years old, "you're only a man and a very 
 young man." 
 
 "You've ceased to love me," he protested, "just 
 because of a little affair I had before I met you?" 
 
 Marjorie answered with world-old wisdom: "A
 
 FOILED YET A CAIN 229 
 
 woman can forgive a man anything except what he 
 did before he met her." 
 
 He stared at her with masculine dismay at femi- 
 nine logic: "If you can't forgive me, then why do 
 you marry me?" 
 
 "For revenge!" she cried. "You brought me on 
 this train all this distance to introduce me to a girl 
 you used to spoon with. And I don't like her. She's 
 awful!" 
 
 "Yes, she is awful," Mallory assented. "I don't 
 know how I ever " 
 
 "Oh, you admit it!" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, I'm going to marry you now this min- 
 ute with that preacher, then I'm going to get off 
 at Reno and divorce you." 
 
 "Divorce me! Good Lord! On what grounds?" 
 
 "On the grounds of Miss Kitty Katty Llewel- 
 lington or whatever her name is." 
 
 Mallory was groggy with punishment, and the 
 vain effort to foresee her next blow. "But you can't 
 name a woman that way," he pleaded, "for just 
 being nice to me before I ever met you." 
 
 "That's the worst kind of unfaithfulness," she 
 reiterated. "You should have known that some day 
 you would meet me. You should have saved your 
 first love for me." 
 
 "But last love is best," Mallory interposed, 
 weakly.
 
 230 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Oh, no, it isn't, and if it is, how do I know I'm 
 to be your last love? No, sir, when I've divorced 
 you, you can go back to your first love and go round 
 the world with her till you get dizzy." 
 
 "But I don't want her for a wife," Mallory urged, 
 "I want you." 
 
 "You'll get me but not for long. And one other 
 thing, I want you to get that bracelet away from that 
 creature. Do you promise?" 
 
 "How can I get it away?" 
 
 "Take it away! Do you promise?" 
 
 Mallory surrendered completely. Anything to get 
 Marjorie safely into his arms: "I promise any- 
 thing, if you'll really marry me." 
 
 "Oh, I'll marry you, sir, but not really." 
 
 And while he stared in helpless awe at the cynic 
 and termagant that jealousy had metamorphosed 
 this timid, clinging creature into, they heard the con- 
 ductor's voice at the rear door of the car: "Hurry 
 up we've got to start." 
 
 They heard Lathrop's protest: "Hold on there, 
 conductor," and Selby's plea: "Oh, I say, my good 
 man, wait a moment, can't you?" 
 
 The conductor answered with the gruffness of a 
 despot: "Not a minute. I've my orders to make 
 up lost time. All aboard!" 
 
 While the minister was tying the last loose ends 
 of the matrimonial knot, Mallory and Marjorie 
 were struggling through the crowd to get at him.
 
 FOILED YET AGAIN 231 
 
 Just as they were near, they were swept aside by 
 the rush of the bride and groom, for the parson's 
 "I pronounce you man and wife," pronounced as he 
 backed toward the door, was the signal for another 
 wedding riot. 
 
 Once more Ira and Anne were showered with 
 rice. This time it was their own. Ira darted out 
 into the corridor, haling his brand-new wife by the 
 wrist, and the wedding guests pursued them across 
 the vestibule, through the next car, and on, and on. 
 
 Nobody remained to notice what happened to 
 the parson. Having performed his function, he was 
 without further interest or use. But to Mallory and 
 Marjorie he was vitally necessary. 
 
 Mallory caught his hand as it turned the knob 
 of the door and drew him back. Marjorie, equally 
 determined, caught his other elbow: 
 
 "Please don't go," Mallory urged, "until you've 
 married us." 
 
 The Reverend Charles stared at his captors in 
 amazement: 
 
 "But my dear man, the train's moving." 
 
 Marjorie clung all the tighter and invited him to 
 "Come on to the next stop." 
 
 "But my dear lady," Selby gasped, "it's impos- 
 sible." 
 
 "You've just got to," Mallory insisted. 
 
 "Release me, please." 
 
 "Never!"
 
 232 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "How dare you!" the parson shrieked, and with 
 a sudden wriggle writhed out of his coat, leaving it 
 in Marjorie's hands. He darted to the door and 
 flung it open, with Mallory hot after him. 
 
 The train was kicking up a cloud of dust and get- 
 ting its stride. The kidnapped clergyman paused a 
 moment, aghast at the speed with which the ground 
 was being paid out. Then he climbed the brass rail 
 and, with a hasty prayer, dropped overboard. 
 
 Mallory lunged at him, and seized him by his 
 reversed collar. But the collar alone remained in 
 his clutch. The parson was almost lost in the dust 
 he created as he struck, bounded and rolled till he 
 came to a stop, with his stars and his prayers to 
 thank for injuries to nothing worse than his dignity 
 and other small clothes. 
 
 Mallory returned to the observation room and 
 flung the collar and bib to the floor in a fury of de- 
 spair, howling: 
 
 "He got away! He got away!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE EMPTY BERTH 
 
 THE one thing Mallory was beginning to learn 
 about Marjorie was that she would never take the 
 point of view he expected, and never proceed along 
 the lines of his logic. 
 
 She had grown furious at him for what he could 
 not help. She had told him that she would marry 
 him out of spite. She had commanded him to pursue 
 and apprehend the flying parson. He failed and 
 returned crestfallen and wondering what new form 
 her rage would take. 
 
 And, lo and behold, when she saw him so down- 
 cast and helpless, she rushed to him with caresses, 
 cuddled his broad shoulders against her breast, anJ 
 smothered him. It was the sincerity of his dejection 
 and the complete helplessness he displayed that won 
 her woman's heart. 
 
 Mallory gazed at her with almost more wonder- 
 ment than delight. This was another flashlight on 
 her character. Most courtships are conducted under 
 a rose-light in which wooer and wooed wear their 
 best clothes or their best behavior; or in a starlit, 
 
 233
 
 234 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 moonlit, or gaslit twilight where romance softens 
 angles and wraps everything in velvet shadow. Then 
 the two get married and begin to live together 
 in the cold, gray daylight of realism, with undigni- 
 fied necessities and harrowing situations at every 
 step, and disillusion begins its deadly work. 
 
 This young couple was undergoing all the incon- 
 veniences and temper-exposures of marriage without 
 its blessed compensations. They promised to be 
 well acquainted before they were wed. If they still 
 wanted each other after this ordeal, they were pretty 
 well assured that their marriage would not be a 
 failure. 
 
 Mallory rejoiced to see that the hurricane of 
 Marjorie's jealousy had only whipped up the sur- 
 face of her soul. The great depths were still calm 
 and unmoved, and her love for him was in and of 
 the depths. 
 
 Soon after leaving Ogden, the train entered upon 
 the great bridge across the Great Salt Lake. The 
 other passengers were staring at the enormous en- 
 gineering masterpiece and the conductor was point- 
 ing out that, in order to save forty miles and the 
 crossing of two mountain chains, the railroad had 
 devoted four years of labor and millions of dollars 
 to stretching a thirty-mile bridge across this inland 
 ocean. 
 
 But Marjorie and Mallory never noticed it. They 
 were absorbed in exploring each other's souls, and
 
 THE EMPTY BERTH 235 
 
 they had safely bridged the Great Salt Lake which 
 the first big bitter jealousy spreads across every mat- 
 rimonial route. 
 
 They were undisturbed in their voyage, for all the 
 other passengers had their noses flattened against 
 the window panes of the other cars all except one 
 couple, gazing each at each through time-wrinkled 
 eyelids touched with the magic of a tardy honey- 
 moon. 
 
 For all that Anne and Ira knew, the Great Salt 
 Lake was a moon-swept lagoon, and the arid moun- 
 tains of Nevada which the train went scaling, were 
 the very hillsides of Arcadia. 
 
 But the other passengers soon came trooping back 
 into the observation room. Ira had told them 
 nothing of Mallory's confession. In the first place, 
 he was a man who had learned to keep a secret, 
 and in the second place, he had forgotten that such 
 persons as Mallory or his Marjorie existed. All the 
 world was summed up in the fearsomely happy little 
 spinster who had moved up into his section the 
 section which had begun its career draped in satin 
 ribbons unwittingly prophetic. 
 
 The communion of Mallory and Marjorie under 
 the benison of reconciliation was invaded by the 
 jokes of the other passengers, unconsciously ironic. 
 
 Dr. Temple chaffed them amiably: "You two 
 will have to take a back seat now. We've got a 
 new bridal couple to amuse us."
 
 236 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 And Mrs. Temple welcomed them with : "You're 
 only old married folks, like us." 
 
 The Mallorys were used to the misunderstanding. 
 But the misplaced witticisms gave them reassurance 
 that their secret was safe yet a little while. At their 
 dinner-table, however, and in the long evening that 
 followed they were haunted by the fact that this was 
 their last night on the train, and no minister to be 
 expected. 
 
 And now once more the Mallorys regained the 
 star roles in the esteem of the audience, for once 
 more they quarreled at good-night-kissing time. 
 Once more they required two sections, while Anne 
 Cattle's berth was not even made up. It remained 
 empty, like a deserted nest, for its occupant had flown 
 South*
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 FRESH TROUBLE DAILY 
 
 4> 
 
 THE following morning the daylight creeping into 
 section number one found Ira and Anne staring 
 at each other. Ira was tousled and Anne was un- 
 kempt, but her blush still gave her cheek at least an 
 Indian summer glow. 
 
 After a violent effort to reach the space between 
 her shoulder blades, she was compelled to appeal to 
 her new master to act as her new maid. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Lathrop," she stammered "Ira," she 
 corrected, "won't you please hook me up?" she 
 pleaded. 
 
 Ira beamed with a second childhood boyishness: 
 "I'll do my best, my little ootsum-tootsums, it's the 
 first time I ever tried it." 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad," Anne sighed, "it's the first 
 time I ever was hooked up by a gentleman." 
 
 He gurgled with joy and, forgetting the poverty 
 of space, tried to reach her lips to kiss her. He 
 almost broke her neck and bumped his head so hard 
 that instead of saying, as he intended, "My darling," 
 he said, "Oh, hell!" 
 
 237
 
 238 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Ira!" she gasped. But he, with all the proprie- 
 torship he had assumed, answered cheerily: "You'll 
 have to get used to it, ducky darling. I could never 
 learn not to swear." He proved the fact again and 
 again by the remarks he addressed to certain refrac- 
 tory hooks. He apologized, but she felt more like 
 apologizing for herself. 
 
 "Oh, Ira," she said, "I'm so ashamed to have you 
 see me like this the first morning." 
 
 "Well, you haven't got anything on me I'm not 
 shaved." 
 
 "You don't have to tell me that," she said, rub- 
 bing her smarting cheek. Then she bumped her head 
 and gasped: "Oh what you said." 
 
 This made them feel so much at home that she 
 attained the heights of frankness and honesty by 
 reaching in her handbag for a knob of supplementary 
 hair, which she affixed dextrously to what was home- 
 grown. Ira, instead of looking shocked, loved her 
 for her honesty, and grinned : 
 
 "Now, that's where you have got something on 
 me. Say, we're like a couple of sardines trying to 
 make love in a tin can." 
 
 "It's cosy though," she said, and then vanished 
 through the curtains and shyly ran the gauntlet of 
 amused glances and over-cordial "Good mornings" 
 till she hid her blushes benind the door of the wo- 
 men's room and turned the key. If she had thought 
 of it she would have said, "God bless the man that
 
 FRESH TROUBLE DAILY 230 
 
 invented doors and the other angel that invented 
 locks." 
 
 The passengers this morning were all a little 
 brisker than usual. It was the last day aboard for 
 everybody and they showed a certain extra anima- 
 tion, like the inmates of an ocean liner when land has 
 been sighted. 
 
 Ashton was shaving when Ira swaggered into the 
 men's room. Without pausing to note whom he 
 was addressing, Ashton sang out: 
 
 "Good morning. Did you rest well?" 
 "What!" Ira roared. 
 
 "Oh, excuse me!" said Ashton, hastily, devoting 
 himself to a gash his safety razor had made in his 
 cheek even in that cheek of his. 
 
 Ira scrubbed out the basin, filled it and tried to 
 dive into it, slapping the cold water in double hand- 
 fuls over his glowing face and puffing through it like 
 a porpoise. 
 
 Meanwhile the heavy-eyed Fosdick was slinking 
 through the dining-car, regarded with amazement 
 by Dr. Temple and his wife, who were already up 
 and breakfasting. 
 
 "What's the matter with the bridal couples on 
 this train, anyway?" said Dr. Temple. 
 
 "I can't imagine," said his wife, "we old couples 
 are the only normal ones." 
 
 "Some more coffee, please, mother," he said. 
 "But your nerves," she protested.
 
 240 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "It's my vacation," he insisted. 
 
 Mrs. Temple stared at him and shook her head: 
 "I wonder what mischief you'll be up to to-day? 
 You've already been smoking, gambling, drinking 
 have you been swearing, yet?" 
 
 "Not yet," the old clergyman smiled, "I've been 
 saving that up for a good occasion. Perhaps it will 
 rise before the day's over." 
 
 And his wife choked on her tea at the wonderful 
 train-change that had come over the best man in 
 Ypsilanti. 
 
 By this time Fosdick had reached the stateroom 
 from which he had been banished again at the 
 Nevada state-line. He knocked cautiously. From 
 within came an anxious voice: "Who's there?" 
 
 "Whom did you expect?" 
 
 Mrs. Fosdick popped her head out like a Jill in 
 the box. "Oh, it's you, Arthur. Kiss me good 
 morning." 
 
 He glanced round stealthily and obeyed instruc- 
 tions: "I guess its's safe my darling." 
 
 "Did you sleep, dovie?" she yawned. 
 
 "Not a wink. They took off the Portland car at 
 Granger and I had to sleep in one of the chairs in 
 the observation room." 
 
 Mrs. Fosdick shook her head at him in mournful 
 sympathy, and asked : "What state are we in now?" 
 
 "A dreadful state Nevada." 
 
 "Just what are we in Nevada?"
 
 FRESH TROUBLE DAILY 241 
 
 "I'm a bigamist, and you've never been married 
 at all." 
 
 "Oh, these awful divorce laws !" she moaned, then 
 left the general for the particular: "Won't you 
 come in and hook me up?" 
 
 Fosdick looked shocked: "I don't dare compro- 
 mise you." 
 
 "Will you take breakfast with me in the dining- 
 car?" she pleaded. 
 
 "Do we dare?" 
 
 "We might call it luncheon," she suggested. 
 
 He seized the chance: "All right, I'll go ahead 
 and order, and you stroll in and I'll offer you the 
 seat opposite me." 
 
 "But can't you hook me up?" 
 
 He was adamant: "Not till we get to California. 
 Do you think I want to compromise my own wife? 
 Shh! Somebody's coming!" And he darted off to 
 the vestibule just as Mrs. Jimmie Wellington issued 
 from number ten with hair askew, eyes only half 
 open, and waist only half shut at the back. She made 
 a quick spurt to the women's room, found it locked, 
 stamped her foot, swore under her breath, and 
 leaned against the wall of the car to wait. 
 
 About the same time, the man who was still her 
 husband according to the law, rolled out of berth 
 number two. There was an amazing clarity to his 
 vision. He lurched as he made his way to the men's 
 room, but it was plainly the train's swerve and not
 
 242 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 an inner lurch that twisted the forthright of his 
 progress. 
 
 He squeezed into the men's room like a whole 
 crowd at once, and sang out, "Good morning, all!" 
 with a wonderful heartiness. Then he paused over 
 a wash basin, rubbed his hands gleefully and pro- 
 claimed, like another Chantecler advertising a new 
 day: 
 
 "Well I'm sober again!" 
 
 "Three cheers for you," said his rival in radi- 
 ance, bridegroom Lathrop. 
 
 "How does it feel?" demanded Ashton, smiling 
 so broadly that he encountered the lather on his 
 brush. 
 
 While he sputtered Wellington was flipping water 
 over his hot head and incidentally over Ashton. 
 
 "I feel," he chortled, "I feel like the first little 
 robin redbreast of the merry springtime. Tweet I 
 Tweet!" 
 
 When the excitement over his redemption had 
 somewhat calmed, Ashton reopened the old topic 
 of conversation: 
 
 "Well, I see they had another scrap last night." 
 
 "They who?" said Ira, through his flying tooth- 
 brush. 
 
 "The Mallorys. Once more he occupied number 
 three and she number seven." 
 
 "Well, well, I can't understand these modern mar- 
 riages," said Little Jimmie, with a side glance at
 
 FRESH TROUBLE DAILY 243 
 
 Ira. Ira suddenly remembered the plight of the 
 Mallorys and was tempted to defend them, but he 
 saw the young lieutenant himself just entering the 
 washroom. This was more than Wellington saw, 
 for he went on talking from behind a towel : 
 
 "Well, if I were a bridegroom and had a bride 
 like that, it would take more than a quarrel to send 
 me to another berth." 
 
 The others made gestures which he could not see. 
 His enlightenment came when Mallory snapped the 
 towel from his hands and glared into his face with 
 all the righteous wrath of a man hearing his do- 
 mestic affairs publicly discussed. 
 
 "Were you alluding to me, Mr. Wellington?" he 
 demanded, hotly. 
 
 Little Jimmie almost perished with apoplexy: 
 "You, you?" he mumbled. "Why, of course not. 
 You're not the only bridegroom on the train." 
 
 Mallory tossed him the towel again : "You meant 
 Mr. Lathrop then?" 
 
 "Me ! Not much !" roared the indignant Lathrop. 
 
 Mallory returned to Wellington with a fiercer: 
 "Whom, then?" 
 
 He was in a dangerous mood, and Ashton came 
 to the rescue: "Oh, don't mind Wellington. He's 
 not sober yet." 
 
 This inspired suggestion came like a life-buoy to 
 the hard-pressed Wellington. He seized it and spoke 
 thickly: "Don't mind me I'm not shober yet."
 
 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Well, it's a good thing you're not," was Malloi*y\ 
 final growl as he began his own toilet. 
 
 The porter's bell began to ring furiously,, with a 
 touch they had already come to recognize as thfi 
 Englishman's. The porter had learned to recognize 
 it, too, and he always took double the necessary time 
 to answer it. He was sauntering down the aisle a1 f . 
 his most leisurely gait when Wedgewood's rumpled 
 mane shot out from the curtains like a lion's from .9 
 jungle, and he bellowed : "Pawtah ! Pawtah !" 
 
 "Still on the train," said the porter. 
 
 "You may give me my portmanteau." 
 
 "Yassah." He dragged it from the upper berth, 
 and set it inside Wedgewood's berth without spe- 
 cial care as to its destination. "Does you desire 
 anything else, sir?" 
 
 "Yes, your absence," said Wedgewood. 
 
 "The same to you and many of them," the porter 
 muttered to himself, and added to Marjorie, who 
 was just starting down the aisle: "I'll suttainly be 
 interested in that man gittin' where he's goin' to git 
 to." Noting that she carried Snoozleums, he said: 
 "We're comin' into a station right soon." Without 
 further discussion she handed him the dog, and he 
 hobbled away. 
 
 When she reached the women's door, she found 
 Mrs. Wellington waiting with increasing exaspera- 
 tion: "Come, join the line at the box office," she 
 said.
 
 FRESH TROUBLE DAILY 245 
 
 "Good morning. Who's in there?" said Mar- 
 jorie, and Mrs. Wellington, not noting that Mrs. 
 Whitcomb had come out of her berth and fallen into 
 line, answered sharply: 
 
 "I don't know. She's been there forever. I'm 
 sure it's that cat of a Mrs. Whitcomb." 
 
 "Good morning, Mrs. Mallory," snapped Mrs. 
 Whitcomb. 
 
 Mrs. Wellington was rather proud that the ran- 
 dom shot landed, but Marjorie felt most uneasy 
 between the two tigresses: "Good morning, Mrs. 
 Whitcomb," she said. There was a disagreeable 
 silence, broken finally by Mrs. Wellington's: "Oh, 
 Mrs. Mallory, would you be angelic enough to hook 
 my gown?" 
 
 ; 'Of course I will," said Marjorie. 
 
 "May I hook you?" said Mrs. Whitcomb. 
 
 "You're awfully kind," said Marjorie, presenting 
 her shoulders to Mrs. Whitcomb, who asked with 
 malicious sweetness: "Why didn't your husband do 
 this for you this morning?" 
 
 "I I don't remember," Marjorie stammered, 
 and Mrs. Wellington tossed over-shoulder an apo- 
 thegm : "He's no husband till he's hook-broken." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Fosdick came out of her stateroom. 
 Seeing Mrs. Whitcomb's waist agape, she went at it 
 with a brief, "Good morning, everybody. Permit 
 me." 
 
 Mrs. Wellington twisted her head to say "Good
 
 246 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 morning," and to ask, "Are you hooked, Mrs. Fas- 
 dick?" 
 
 "Not yet," pouted Mrs. Fosdick. 
 
 "Turn round and back up," said Mrs. Wellington. 
 After some maneuvering, the women formed a com- 
 plete circle, and fingers plied hooks and eyes in a 
 veritable Ladies' Mutual Aid Society. 
 
 By now, Wedgewood was ready to appear in a 
 bathrobe about as gaudy as the royal standard of 
 Great Britain. He stalked down the aisle, and an- 
 swered the male chorus's cheery "Good morning" 
 with a ramlike "Baw." 
 
 Ira Lathrop felt amiable even toward the for- 
 eigner, and he observed: "Glorious morning this 
 morning." 
 
 "I dare say," growled Wedgewood. "I don't go 
 in much for mawnings especially when I have no 
 tub." 
 
 Wellington felt called upon to squelch him: "You 
 Englishmen never had a real tub till we Americans 
 sold 'em to you." 
 
 "I dare say," said Wedgewood indifferently. 
 "You sell 'em. We use 'em. But, do you know, I've 
 just thought out a ripping idea. I shall have my cold 
 bath this mawning after all." 
 
 "What are you going to do?" growled Lathrop. 
 "Crawl in the icewater tank?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no. I shouldn't be let," and he pro- 
 duced from his pocket a rubber hose. "I simply
 
 FRESH TROUBLE DAILY 247 
 
 affix this little tube to one end of the spigot and wave 
 the sprinklah hyah over my er my person." 
 
 Lathrop stared at him pityingly, and demanded: 
 "What happens to the water, then?" 
 
 "What do I care?" said Wedgewood. 
 
 "You durned fool, you'd flood the car." 
 
 Wedgewood's high hopes withered. "I hadn't 
 thought of that," he sighed. "I suppose I must con- 
 tinue just as I am till I reach San Francisco. The 
 first thing I shall order to-night will be four cold 
 tubs and a lemon squash." 
 
 While the men continued to make themselves pre- 
 sentable in a huddle, the hook-and-eye society at the 
 .other end of the car finished with the four waists^ 
 and Mrs. Fosdick hurried away to keep her tryst in 
 the dining-car. The three remaining relapsed int* 
 dreary attitudes. Mrs. Wellington sh^k the knob 
 of the forbidding door, and turned to complain: 
 "What in heaven's name ails the creature in there. 
 She must have fallen out of the window." 
 
 "It's outrageous," said Marjorie, "the way 
 women violate women's rights." 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb saw an opportunity to insert a 
 stiletto. She observed to Marjorie, with an innocent 
 air: "Why, Mrs. Mallory, I've even known women 
 to lock themselves in there and smoke!" 
 
 While Mrs. Wellington was rummaging her brain 
 for a fitting retort, the door opened, and out stepped 
 Miss Cattle, as was.
 
 248 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 She blushed furiously at sight of the committee 
 waiting to greet her, but they repented their criti- 
 cisms and tried to make up for them by the excessive 
 warmth with which they all exclaimed at once: 
 "Good morning, Mrs. Lathrop!" 
 
 "Good morning, who?" said Anne, then blushed 
 yet redder: "Oh, I can't seem to get used to that 
 name! I hope I haven't kept you waiting?" 
 
 "Oh, not at all!" the women insisted, and Anne 
 fled to number Six, remembered that this was no 
 longer her home, and moved on to number One. 
 Here the porter was just finishing his restoring tasks, 
 and laying aside with some diffidence two garments 
 which Anne hastily stuffed into her own valise. 
 
 Meanwhile Marjorie was pushing Mrs. Welling- 
 ton ahead: 
 
 "You go in first, Mrs. Wellington." 
 
 "You go first. I have no husband waiting for 
 me," said Mrs. Wellington. 
 
 "Oh, I insist," said Marjorie. 
 
 "I couldn't think of it," persisted Mrs. Welling- 
 ton. "I won't allow you." 
 
 And then Mrs. Whitcomb pushed them both 
 aside: "Pardon me, won't you? I'm getting off at 
 Reno." 
 
 "So am I," gasped Mrs. Wellington, rushing for- 
 ward, only to be faced by the slam of the door and 
 the click of the key. She whirled back to demand
 
 FRESH TROUBLE DAILY 249 
 
 of Marjorie: "Did you ever hear of such impu- 
 dence?" 
 
 "I never did." 
 
 "I'll never be ready for Reno," Mrs. Wellington 
 wailed, "and I haven't had my breakfast." 
 
 "You'd better order it in advance," said Mar- 
 jorie. "It takes that chef an hour to boil an egg 
 three minutes." 
 
 "I will, if I can ever get my face washed," sighed 
 Mrs. Wellington. 
 
 And now Mrs. Anne Lathrop, after much hesita- 
 tion, called timidly: Porter porter please!" 
 
 "Yes miss missus!" he amended. 
 
 "Will you call my " she gulped "my hus- 
 band?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," the porter chuckled, and putting 
 his grinning head in at the men's door, he bowed to 
 Ira and said: "Excuse me, but you are sent for by 
 the lady in number One." 
 
 Ashton slapped him on the back and roared: "Oh, 
 you married man!" 
 
 "Well," said Ira, in self-defence, "I don't hear 
 anybody sending for you." Wedgewood grinned at 
 Ashton. "I rather fancy he had you theah, old top, 
 eh, what?" 
 
 Ira appeared at number One, and bending over 
 his treasure-trove, spoke in a voice that was pure 
 saccharine : "Are you ready for breakfast, dear?" 
 
 "Yes, Ira."
 
 250 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Come along to the dining-car." 
 
 "It's cosier here," she said. "Couldn't we have 
 k served here?" 
 
 "But it'll get all cold, and I'm hungry," pouted the 
 Id bachelor, to whom breakfast was a sacred 
 institution. 
 
 "All right, Ira," said Anne, glad to be meek; 
 "come along," and she rose. 
 
 Ira hesitated. "Still, if you'd rather, we'll eat 
 here." He sat down. 
 
 "Oh, not at all," said Anne; "we'll go where you 
 want to go." 
 
 "But I want to do what you want to do." 
 
 "So do I we'll go," said Anne. 
 
 "We'll stay." 
 
 "No, I insist on the dining-car." 
 
 "Oh, all right, have your own way," said Ira, as 
 if he were being bullied, and liked it. Anne smiled 
 at the contrariness of men, and Ira smiled at the 
 contrariness of women, and when they reached the 
 vestibule they kissed each other in mutual for- 
 giveness. 
 
 As Wedgewood stropped an old-fashioned razor, 
 he said to Ashton, who was putting up his safety 
 equipment: "I say, old party, are those safety razors 
 safe? Can't you really cut yourself?" 
 
 "Cut everything but hair," said Ashton, pointing 
 to his wounded chin. 
 
 Mallory put out his hand: "Would you be kind 
 enough to lend me your razor again this morning?"
 
 FRESH TROUBLE DAILY 251 
 
 "Sure thing," said Ashton. "You'll find your 
 blade in the box there." 
 
 Mallory then negotiated the loan of one more 
 fresh shirt from the Englishman, and a clean collar 
 from Ashton. He rejoiced that the end of the day 
 would bring him in touch with his own baggage. 
 Four days of foraging on the country was enougk 
 for this soldier. 
 
 Also he felt, now that he and Marjorie had lived 
 thus long, they could survive somehow till evening 
 brought them to San Francisco, where there were 
 hundreds of ministers. And then the conductor must 
 ruin his early morning optimism, though he made his 
 appearance in the washroom with genial good morn- 
 ings for all. 
 
 Mallory acknowledged the greeting, and asked off- 
 handedly: "By the way, how's she running?" 
 
 The conductor answered even more offhandedly: 
 "About two hours late and losinV 
 
 Mallory was transfixed with a new fear: "Good 
 Lord, my transport sails at sunrise." 
 
 "Oh, we ought to make 'Frisco by midnight, any- 
 way." 
 
 "Midnight, and sail at daylight 1" 
 
 "Unless we lose a little more time." 
 
 Mallory realized that every new day managed to 
 create its own anxieties. With the regularity of a 
 milkman, each morning left a fresh crisis on hia 
 doorstep.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE COMPLETE DIVORCEE 
 
 THE other passengers were growing nervous with 
 their own troubles. The next stop was Reno, and 
 in spite of all the wit that is heaped upon the town, 
 it is a solemn place to those who must go there 
 in purgatorial penance for matrimonial error. 
 
 Some honest souls regard such divorce-emporiums 
 as dens of evil, where the wicked make a mockery 
 of the sacrament and assail the foundations of soci- 
 ety, by undermining the home. Other equally honest 
 souls, believing that marriage is a human institution 
 whose mishaps and mistakes should be rectified as 
 far as possible, regard the divorce courts as cities 
 of refuge for ill-treated or ill-mated women and men 
 whose lives may be saved from utter ruination by 
 the intervention of high-minded judges. 
 
 But, whichever view is right, the ordeal by divorce 
 is terrifying enough to the poor sinners or martyrs 
 who must undergo it. 
 
 LittJe Jimmie Wellington turned pale, and stam- 
 mered, as he tried to ask the conductor casually: 
 
 4 What kind of a place is that Reno?" 
 
 The conductor, somewhat cynical from close asso- 
 252
 
 THE COMPLETE DIVORCEE 253 
 
 elation with the divorce-mill and its grist, grinned: 
 "That depends on what you're leaving behind. Most 
 folks seem to get enough of it in about six months." 
 Then he went his way, leaving Wellington red, 
 agape and perplexed. The trouble with Welling- 
 ton was that he had brought along what he was 
 leaving behind. Or, as Ashton impudently observed : 
 "You ought to enjoy your residence there, Welling- 
 ton, with your wife on hand." 
 
 The only repartee that Wellington could think of 
 
 was a rather uninspired: "You go to ." 
 
 "So long as it isn't Reno," Ashton laughed, and 
 walked away. 
 
 Wedgewood laid a sympathetic hand on Little 
 Jimmie's shoulder, and said: 
 
 "That Ashton is no end of a bounder, what?" 
 Wellington wrote his epitaph in these words: 
 "Well, the worst I can say of him is, he's the kind 
 of man that doesn't lift the plug out when he's 
 through with the basin." 
 
 He liked this so well that he wished he had 
 thought of it in time to crack it over Ashton's head. 
 He decided to hand it to him anyway. He forgot 
 that the cardinal rule for repartee, is "Better never 
 than late." 
 
 As he swung out of the men's room he was 
 buttonholed by an individual new to the little Trans- 
 American colony. One of the camp-followers and 
 sutlers who prosper round the edges of all great
 
 254 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 enterprises had waylaid him on the way to the battle- 
 ground of marital freedom. 
 
 The stranger had got on at an earlier stop and 
 worked his way through the train to the car named 
 "Snowdrop." Wellington was his first victim here. 
 His pushing manner, the almost vulture-like rapacity 
 of his gleaming eyes, and the very vulturine contour 
 of his profile, his palmy gestures, his thick lisp, and 
 everything about him gave Wellington his immedi- 
 ate pedigree. 
 
 It ill behooves Christendom to need reminding 
 that the Jewish race has adorned and still adorns 
 humanity with some of its noblest specimens; but 
 this interloper was of the type that must have irri- 
 tated Voltaire into answering the platitude that the 
 Jews are God's chosen people with that other plati- 
 tude, "Tastes differ." 
 
 Little Jimmie Wellington, hot in pursuit of Ash- 
 ton, found himself checked in spite of himself; in 
 spite of himself deposited somehow into a seat, and 
 in spite of himself confronted with a curvilinear per- 
 son, who said : 
 
 "Excoose, pleass! but are you gettink off at 
 R-r-reno?" 
 
 "I am," Wellington answered, curtly, essaying to 
 rise, only to be delicately restored to his place with 
 a gesture and a phrase: 
 
 "Then you neet me." 
 
 "Oh, I need you, do I? And who are you?"
 
 TEE COMPLETE DIVORCEE 255 
 
 "Who ain't I? I am Baumann and Blumen. Our 
 cart, pleass." 
 
 Wellington found a pasteboard in his hand and 
 read the legend : 
 
 Real Estate Agents. Baggage Transfer. 
 
 Saitmamt & Blumcn 
 DIVORCE OUTFITTERS, 
 
 212 Alimony Avenue, Reno, Nev. 
 
 Notary Public. Divorces Secured. 
 
 Justice of the Peace. Satisfaction Guaranteed. 
 
 Wellington looked from the crowded card to the 
 zealous face. "Divorce Outfitters, eh? I don't 
 quite get you." 
 
 "Veil, in the foist place " 
 
 " The foist place,' eh? You're from New 
 York." 
 
 "Yes, oritchinally. How did you know it? By 
 my feshionable clothink?" 
 
 "Yes," laughed Wellington. "But you say I need 
 you. How?" 
 
 "Veil, you've got maybe some beggetch, some 
 trunks yes ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Veil, in the foist place, I am an expressman. I 
 deliver 'em to your address yes? Vere iss it?"
 
 256 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "I haven't got any yet." 
 
 "Also I am addressman. Do you vant it a nice 
 hotel? or a fine house? or an apartment? or 
 maybe a boarding-house? yes? How long do you 
 make a residence?" 
 
 "Six months." 
 
 "No longer?" 
 
 "Not a minute." 
 
 "Take a fine house, den. I got some beauties just 
 wacated." 
 
 "For a year? no thanks." 
 
 "All the leases in Reno run for six months 
 only." 
 
 "Well, I'd like to look around a little first." 
 
 "Good. Don't forget us. You come out here for 
 six months. You vant maybe a good quick divorce 
 yes?" 
 
 "The quickest I can get." 
 
 "Do you vant it confidential? or very nice and 
 noisy?" 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Ve are press agents and also suppress agents. 
 Some likes 'em one way, some likes 'em anudder. 
 Vich do you vant it?" 
 
 "Quick and quiet." 
 
 "Painless divorce is our specialty. If you pay me 
 an advence deposit now, I file your claim de minute 
 de train stops and your own vife don't know you're 
 divorced."
 
 THE COMPLETE DIVORCEE 257 
 
 "I'll think it over," said Wellington, rising with 
 resolution-. 
 
 "Don't forget us. iSaumann and Blumen. Satis- 
 faction guaranteed or your wife refunded. Avoid 
 substitoots." And then, seeing that he could not ex- 
 tract any cash from Little Jimmie, Mr. Baumann 
 descended upon Mallory, who was just finishing his 
 shave. Laying his hand on Mallory's arm, he be- 
 gan: 
 
 "Excoose, pleass. Can I fit you out vit a nice 
 divorce?" 
 
 "Divorce? me! that's good," laughed Mallory 
 at the vision of it. Then a sudden idea struck him. 
 It took no great genius to see that Mr. Baumann 
 was not a clergyman, but there were other marriers 
 to be had. "You don't perform marriages, do you ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Mr. Baumann drew himself up : "Who says I 
 don't? Ain't I a justice of the peaces?" 
 
 Mallory put out his hand in welcome: then a new 
 anxiety chilled him. He had a license for Chicago, 
 but Chicago was far away: "Do I need a license 
 in Nevada ?" 
 
 "Why shouldn't you?" said Mr. Baumann. 
 "Don't all sorts of things got to have a license in 
 Nevada, saloons, husbands, dogs " 
 
 "How could I get one?" Mallory asked as he 
 went on dressing.
 
 258 EXCUSE HE! 
 
 "Ain't I got a few vit me? Do you vant to get 
 a nice re-marriage license?" 
 
 "Re-marriage? huh!" he looked round and, see- 
 ing that no one else was near: "I haven't taken the 
 first step yet." 
 
 Mr. Baumann laved his hands in one another : "A 
 betchelor? Ah, I see you vant to marry a nice di- 
 vorcee lady in R-r-reno ?" 
 
 "She isn't in Reno and she has never been mar- 
 ried, either." 
 
 This simple statement seemed to astound Mr. 
 Baumann: 
 
 "A betcheller marry a maiden ! in Reno ! oi, oi, 
 oi ! It hasn't been done yet, but it might be." 
 
 Mallory looked him over and a twinge of distaste 
 disturbed him: "You furnish the license, but er 
 ah is there any chance of a clergyman a Christian 
 clergyman being at the station?" 
 
 "Vy do you vant it a cloigyman? Can't I do it 
 just as good ? Or a nice fat alderman I can get you ?" 
 
 Mallory pondered : "I don't think she'd like any- 
 thing but a clergyman." 
 
 "Veil," Baumann confessed, "a lady is liable to 
 be particular about her foist marriage. Anyvay I 
 sell you de license." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 Mr. Baumann whipped out a portfolio full of 
 documents, and as he searched them, philosophized: 
 "A man ought alvays to carry a good marriage li-
 
 THE COMPLETE DIVORCEE 259 
 
 cense. It might be he should need it in a hurry." 
 He took a large iron seal from his side-pocket and 
 stamped the paper and then, with fountain pen 
 poised, pleaded: "Vat is the names, pleass?" 
 
 "Not so loud!" Mallory whispered. 
 
 Baumann put his finger to his nose, wisely: "I 
 see, it is a confidential marriage. Sit down once." 
 
 When he had asked Mallory the necessary ques- 
 tions and taken his fee, he passed over the document 
 by which the sovereign state of Nevada graciously 
 permitted two souls to be made more or less one in 
 the eyes of the law. 
 
 "Here you are," said Mr. Baumann. "Vit dat 
 you can get married anyvere in Nevada." 
 
 Mallory realized that Nevada would be a thing 
 of the past in a few hours more and he asked: 
 
 "It's no good in California?" 
 
 "Himmel, no. In California you bot' gotta go 
 and be examined." 
 
 "Examined!" Mallory gasped, in dire alarm. 
 
 "Vit questions, poissonally," Mr. Baumann has- 
 tened to explain. 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "In Nevada," Baumann insinuated, still hopeful, 
 "I could marry you myself now, right here." 
 
 "Could you marry us in this smoking room?" 
 
 "In a cattle car, if you vant it." 
 
 "It's not a bad idea," said Mallory. "I'll let you 
 know."
 
 260 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Seeing Marjorie coming down the aisle, he has- 
 tened to her, and hugged her good-morning with a 
 new confidence. 
 
 Dr. and Mrs. Temple, who had returned to their 
 berth, witnessed this greeting with amazement. After 
 the quarrel of the night before surely some explana- 
 tion should have been overheard, but the puzzling 
 Mallorys flew to each other's arms without a mo- 
 ment's delay. The mystery was exciting the pas- 
 sengers to such a point that they were vowing to 
 ask a few questions point blank. Nobody had quite 
 dared to approach either of them, but frank curi- 
 osity was preferable to nervous prostration, and 
 the secret could not be kept much longer. Fellow- 
 passengers have some rights. Not even a stranger 
 can be permitted to outrage their curiosity with im- 
 punity forever. 
 
 Seeing them together, Mrs. Temple watched the 
 embrace with her daily renewal of joy that the last 
 night's quarrel had not proved fatal. She nudged 
 her husband : 
 
 "See, they're making up again." 
 
 Dr. Temple was moved to a violent outburst for 
 him: "Well, that's the darnedest bridal couple I 
 only said darn, my dear." 
 
 He was still more startled when Mr. Baumann, 
 cruising along the aisle, bent over to murmur: "Can 
 I fix you a nice divorce?" 
 
 Dr. Temple rose in such an attitude of horror as
 
 THE COMPLETE DIVORCEE 261 
 
 he assumed in the pulpit when denouncing the great- 
 est curse of society, and Mr. Baumann retired. As 
 he passed Mallory he cast an appreciative glance 
 at Marjorie and, tapping Mallory's shoulder, whis- 
 pered: "No vonder you want a marriage license. 
 I'll be in the next car, should you neet me." Then 
 he went on his route. 
 
 Marjorie stared after him in wonder and asked: 
 "What did that person mean by what he said?" 
 
 "It's all right, Marjorie," Mallory explained, in 
 the highest cheer: "We can get married right 
 away." 
 
 Marjorie declined to get her hopes up again: 
 "You're always saying that." 
 
 "But here's the license see?" 
 
 "What good is that?" she said, "there's no 
 preacher on board." 
 
 "But that man is a justice of the peace and he'll 
 marry us." 
 
 Marjorie stared at him incredulously: "That 
 creature ! before all these passengers ?" 
 
 "Not at all," Mallory explained. "We'll go into 
 the smoking room." 
 
 Marjorie leaped to her feet, aghast: "Elope two 
 thousand miles to be married in a smoking room by 
 a Yiddish drummer ! Harry Mallory, you're crazy." 
 
 Put just that way, the proposition did not look 
 so alluring as at first. He sank back with a sigh: 
 "I guess I am. I resign."
 
 262 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 He was as weary of being "foiled again" as the 
 villain of a cheap melodrama. The two lovers sat 
 in a twilight of deep melancholy, till Marjorie's mind 
 dug up a new source of alarm: 
 
 "Harry, I've just thought of something terrible." 
 
 "Let's have it," he sighed, drearily. 
 
 "We reach San Francisco at midnight and you 
 sail at daybreak. What becomes of me?" 
 
 Mallory had no answer to this problem, except a 
 grim: "I'll not desert you." 
 
 "But we'll have no time to get married." 
 
 "Then," he declared with iron resolve, "then I'll 
 resign from the Army." 
 
 Marjorie stared at him with awe. He was so 
 wonderful, so heroic. "But what will the country 
 do without you?" 
 
 "It will have to get along the best it can," he 
 answered with finality. "Do you think I'd give you 
 up?" 
 
 But this was too much to ask. In the presence 
 of a ruined career and a hero-less army, Marjorie 
 felt that her own scruples were too petty to count 
 She could be heroic, too. 
 
 "No!" she said, in a deep, low tone, "No, we'll 
 get married in the smoking room. Go call your 
 drummer!" 
 
 This opened the clouds and let in the sun again 
 with such a radiant blaze that Mallory hesitated 
 no longer. "Fine!" he cried, and leaped to his
 
 263 
 
 feet, only to be detained again by Marjorie's clutch: 
 
 "But first, what about that bracelet?" 
 
 "She's got it," Mallory groaned, slumping from 
 the heights again. 
 
 "Do you mean to say she's still wearing it?" 
 
 "How was I to get it?" 
 
 "Couldn't you have slipped into her car last night 
 and stolen it?" 
 
 "Good Lord, I shouldn't think you'd want me to 
 go why, Marjorie I'd be arrested!" 
 
 But Marjorie set her jaw hard: "Well, you get 
 that bracelet, or you don't get me." And then her 
 smouldering jealousy and grief took a less hateful 
 tone : "Oh, Harry !" she wailed, "I'm so lonely and 
 so helpless and so far from home." 
 
 "But I'm here," he urged. 
 
 "You're farther away than anybody," she whim- 
 pered, huddling close to him. 
 
 "Poor little thing," he murmured, soothing her 
 with voice and kiss and caress. 
 
 "Put your arm round me," she cooed, like a 
 mourning dove, "I don't care if everybody is look- 
 ing. Oh, I'm so lonely." 
 
 "I'm just as lonely as you are," he pleaded, trying 
 to creep into the company of her misery. 
 
 "Please marry me soon," she implored, "won't 
 you, please?" 
 
 "I'd marry you this minute if you'd say the word," 
 he whispered.
 
 264 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "I'd say it if you only had that bracelet," she 
 sobbed, like a tired child. "I should think you would 
 understand my feelings. That awful person is wear- 
 ing your bracelet and I have only your ring, and her 
 bracelet is ten times as big as my r-i-ing, boo-hoo- 
 hoo-oo!" 
 
 "I'll get that bracelet if I have to chop her arm 
 off," Mallory vowed. 
 
 The sobs stopped short, as Marjorie looked up 
 to ask: "Have you got your sword with you?" 
 
 "It's in my trunk," he said, "but I'll manage. * 
 
 "Now you're speaking like a soldier," Marjorie 
 exclaimed, "my brave, noble, beautiful, fearless hus- 
 band. I'll tell you ! That creature will pass through 
 this car on her way to breakfast. You grab her 
 and take the bracelet away from her." 
 
 "I grab her, eh?" he stammered, his heroism wa- 
 vering a trifle. 
 
 "Yes, just grab her." 
 
 "Suppose she hasn't the bracelet on?" he mused. 
 
 "Grab her anyway," Marjorie answered, fiercely. 
 "Besides, I've no doubt it's wished on." He said 
 nothing. "You did wish it on, didn't you?" 
 
 "No, no never of course not " he protested 
 "If you'll only be calm. I'll get it if I have to 
 throttle her." 
 
 Like a young Lady Macbeth, Marjorie gave him 
 her utter approval in any atrocity, and they sat in 
 ambush for their victim to pass into view.
 
 THE COMPLETE DIVORCEE 265 
 
 They had not had their breakfast, but they forgot 
 it. A dusky waiter went by chanting his "Lass call 
 for breakfuss in Rining Rar." He chanted it thrice 
 in their ears, but they never heard. Marjorie was 
 gloating over the discomfiture of the odious creature 
 who had dared to precede her in the acquaintance of 
 her husband-to-be. The husband-to-be was miser- 
 ably wishing that he had to face a tribe of bolo- 
 brandishing Moros, instead of this trivial girl whom 
 he had looked upon when her cheeks were red.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 MR. AND MRS. LITTLE JIMMIE 
 
 MRS. SAMMY WHITCOMB had longed for the sweet 
 privilege of squaring matters with Mrs. Jimmie Wel- 
 lington. Sneers and back-biting, shrugs and shud- 
 ders of contempt were poor compensation for the 
 ever-vivid fact that Mrs. Wellington had proved 
 attractive to her Sammy while Mrs. Wellington's 
 Jimmie never looked at Mrs. Whitcomb. Or if he 
 did, his eyes had been sc blurred that he had seen 
 two of her and avoided both. 
 
 Yesterday she had overheard Jimmie vow sobri- 
 ety. To-day his shining morning face showed that 
 he had kept his word. She could hardly wait to 
 begin the flirtation which, she trusted, would render 
 Mrs. Wellington helplessly furious for six long Reno 
 months. 
 
 The Divorce Drummer interposed and held 
 Jimmie prisoner for a time, but as soon as Mr. Bau- 
 mann released him, Mrs. Whitcomb apprehended 
 him. With a smile that beckoned and with eyes that 
 went out like far-cast fishhooks, she drew Leviathan 
 into her net. 
 
 266
 
 MR. AND MRS. LITTLE JIMMIE 267 
 
 She reeled him in and he plounced in the seat 
 opposite. What she took for bashfulness was re- 
 luctance. To add the last charm to her success, 
 Mrs. Wellington arrived to see it. Mrs. Whitcomb 
 saw the lonely Ashton rise and offer her the seat 
 facing him. Mrs. Wellington took it and sat down 
 with the back of her head so close to the back of 
 Mr. Wellington's head that the feather in her hat 
 tickled his neck. 
 
 Jimmie Wellington had seen his wife pass by.. To 
 his sober eyes she was a fine sight as she moved up 
 the aisle. In his alcohol-emancipated mind the keen 
 sense of wrong endured that had driven him forth 
 to Reno began to lose its edge. His own soul ap- 
 pealed from Jimmie drunk to Jimmie sober. The 
 appellate judge began to reverse the lower court's 
 decision, point by point. 
 
 He felt a sudden recrudescence of jealousy as he 
 heard Ashton's voice unctuously, flirtatiously offer- 
 ing his wife hospitality. He wanted to trounce Ash- 
 ton. But what right had he to defend from gal- 
 lantry the woman he was about to forswear before 
 the world? Jimmie's soul was in turmoil, and Mrs. 
 Whitcomb's pretty face and alluring smile only an- 
 noyed him. 
 
 She had made several gracious speeches before he 
 quite comprehended any of them. Then he realized 
 that she was saying: "I'm so glad you* re going to 
 stop at Reno, Mr. Wellington."
 
 ,68 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Thank you. So am I," he mumbled, trying to 
 look interested and wishing that his wife's plume 
 would not tickle his neck. 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb went on, leaning closer: "We 
 two poor mistreated wretches must try to console 
 one another, musn't we?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, we must," Wellington nodded, with 
 a sickly cheer. 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb leaned a little closer. "Do you 
 know that I feel almost related to you, Mr. Wel- 
 lington?" 
 
 "Related?" he echoed, "you? to me? How?" 
 
 "My husband knew your wife so well." 
 
 Somehow a wave of jealous rage surged over him, 
 and he growled: "Your husband is a scoundrel." 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb's smile turned to vinegar: "Oh, 
 I can't permit you to slander the poor boy behind 
 his back. It was all your wife's fault." 
 
 Wellington amazed himself by his own bravery 
 when he heard himself volleying back: "And I 
 can't permit you to slander my wife behind her back. 
 It was all your husband's fault." 
 
 Mrs. Jimmie overheard this behind her back, and 
 it strangely thrilled her. She ignored Ashton's ex- 
 istence and listened for Mrs. Whitcomb's next re- 
 tort. It consisted of a simple, icy drawl: "I think 
 I'll go to breakfast." 
 
 She seemed to pick up Ashton with her eyes as she 
 glided by, for, finding himself unnoticed, he rose
 
 MB. AND MRS. LITTLE JIMMIE 269 
 
 with a careless: "I think I'll go to breakfast," and 
 followed Mrs. Whitcomb. The Wellingtons sat 
 dos-a-dos for some exciting seconds, and then on a 
 sudden impulse, Mrs. Jimmie rose, knelt in the seat 
 and spoke across the back of it: 
 
 "It was very nice of you to defend me, Jimmie 
 er James." 
 
 Wellington almost dislocated several joints in 
 rising quickly and whirling round at the cordiality 
 of her tone. But his smile vanished at her last word. 
 He protested, feebly: "James sounds so like a a 
 butler. Can't you call me Little Jimmie again?" 
 
 Mrs. Wellington smiled indulgently: "Well, since 
 it's the last time. Good-bye, Little Jimmie." And 
 she put out her hand. He seized it hungrily and 
 clung to it: "Good-bye? aren't you getting off at 
 Reno?" 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 "So am I Lucretia." 
 
 "But we can't afford to be seen together." 
 
 Still holding her hand, he temporized: "We've 
 got to stay married for six months at least while 
 we establish a residence. Couldn't we cr couldn't 
 we establish a residence er together?" 
 
 Mrs. Wellington's eyes grew a little sad, as she 
 answered: "It would be too lonesome waiting for 
 you to roll home." 
 
 Jimmie stared at her. He felt the regret in her 
 voice and took strange courage from it. He hauled
 
 270 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 from his pocket his huge flask, and said quickly: 
 "Well, if you're jealous of this, I'll promise to cork 
 it up forever." 
 
 She shook her head skeptically: "You couldn't." 
 
 "Just to prove it," he said, "I'll chuck it out of 
 the window." He flung up the sash and made ready 
 to hurl his enemy into the flying landscape. 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Mrs. Wellington. 
 
 But even as his hand was about to let go, he tight- 
 ened his clutch again, and pondered: "It seems a 
 shame to waste it." 
 
 "I thought so," said Mrs. Jimmie, drooping per- 
 ceptibly. Her husband began to feel that, after all, 
 she cared what became of him. 
 
 "I'll tell you," he said, "I'll give it to old Doc 
 Temple. He takes his straight." 
 
 "Fine!" 
 
 He turned towards the seat where the clergyman 
 and his wife were sitting, oblivious of the drama of 
 reconciliation playing so close at hand. Little 
 Jimmie paused, caressed the flask, and kissed it. 
 "Good-bye, old playmate!" Then, tossing his head 
 with bravado, he reached out and touched the clergy- 
 man's shoulder. Dr. Temple turned and rose with 
 a questioning look. Wellington put the flask in his 
 hand and chuckled: "Merry Christmas!" 
 
 "But, my good man " the preacher objected, 
 
 finding in his hand a donation about as welcome
 
 MR. AND MRS. LITTLE JIMMIE 271 
 
 and as wieldy as a strange baby. Wellington winked: 
 "It may come in handy for your patients." 
 
 And now, struck with a sudden idea, Mrs. Wel- 
 lington spoke: "Oh, Mrs. Temple." 
 
 "Yes, my dear," said the little old lady, rising. 
 Mrs. Wellington placed in her hand a small port- 
 folio and laughed: "Happy New Year!" 
 
 Mrs. Temple stared at her gift and gasped: 
 "Great heavens ! Your cigars !" 
 
 "They'll be such a consolation," Mrs. Wellington 
 explained, "while the Doctor is out with his pa- 
 tients." 
 
 Dr. Temple and Mrs. Temple looked at each 
 other in dismay, then at the flask and the cigars, then 
 at the Wellingtons, then they stammered: "Thank 
 you so much," and sank back, stupefied. 
 
 Wellington stared at his wife: "Lucretia, are 
 you sincere?" 
 
 "Jimmie, I promise you I'll never smoke another 
 cigar." 
 
 "My love !" he cried, and seized her hand. "You 
 know I always said you were a queen among women, 
 Lucretia." 
 
 She beamed back at him : "And you always werd 
 the prince of good fellows, Jimmie." Then she 
 almost blushed as she murmured, almost shyly: 
 "May I pour your coffee for you again this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 "For life," he whispered, and they moved up the
 
 272 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 aisle, arm in arm, bumping from seat to seat and 
 not knowing it. 
 
 When Mrs. Whitcomb, seated in the dining-car, 
 saw Mrs. Little Jimime pour Mr. Little Jimmie's 
 coffee, she choked on hers. She vowed that she 
 would not permit those odious Wellingtons to make 
 fools of her and her Sammy. She resolved to tele- 
 graph Sammy that she had changed her mind about 
 divorcing him, and order him to take the first train 
 West and meet her half-way on her journey home.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 A DUEL FOR A BRACELET 
 
 ALL this while Marjorie and Mallory had sat 
 watching, as kingfishers shadow a pool, the door 
 wherethrough the girl with the bracelet must pass 
 on her way to breakfast. 
 
 "She's taking forever with her toilet," sniffed 
 Marjorie. "Probably trying to make a special im- 
 pression on you." 
 
 "She's wasting her time," said Mallory. "But 
 what if she brings her mother along? No, I guess 
 her mother is too fat to get there and back." 
 
 "If her mother comes," Marjorie decided, "I'll 
 hold her while you take the bracelet away from the 
 the from that creature. Quick, here she comes 
 now! Be brave!" 
 
 Mallory wore an aspect of arrant cowardice : "Er 
 _ a u T T 
 
 (X 11 JL JL 
 
 "You just grab her!" Marjorie explained. Then 
 they relapsed into attitudes of impatient attention. 
 Kathleen floated in and, seeing Mallory, she greeted 
 him with radiant warmth: "Good morning!" and 
 then, catching sight of Marjorie, gave her a "Good 
 morning!" coated with ice. She flounced past and 
 
 273
 
 274 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Mallory sat inert, till Marjorie gave him a fero- 
 cious pinch, whereupon he leaped to his feet: 
 
 "Oh, Miss er Miss Kathleen." Kathleen 
 whirled round with a most hospitable smile. "May 
 I have a word with you?" 
 
 "Of course you can, you dear boy." Marjorie 
 winced at this and writhed at what followed : "Shan't 
 we take breakfast together?" 
 
 Mallory stuttered: "I I no, thank you I've 
 had breakfast." 
 
 Kathleen froze up again as she snapped: "With 
 that train-acquaintance, I suppose." 
 
 "Oh, no," Mallory amended, "I mean I haven't 
 had breakfast." 
 
 But Kathleen scowled with a jealousy of her own: 
 "You seem to be getting along famously for mere 
 train-acquaintances." 
 
 "Oh, that's all we are, and hardly that," Mallory 
 hastened to say with too much truth. "Sit down here 
 a moment, won't you?" 
 
 "No, no, I haven't time," she said, and sat down. 
 "Mamma will be waiting for me. You haven't been 
 in 'to see her yet?" 
 
 "No. You see " 
 
 "She cried all night." 
 
 "Forme?" 
 
 "No, for papa. He's such a good traveler and 
 he had such a good start. She really kept the whole 
 car awake."
 
 A DUEL FOR A BRACELET 275 
 
 "Too bad," Mallory condoled, perfunctorily, then 
 with sudden eagerness, and a trial at indifference: 
 "I see you have that bracelet still." 
 
 "Of course, you dear fellow. I wouldn't be parted 
 from it for worlds." 
 
 Marjorie gnashed her teeth, but Kathleen could 
 not hear that. She gushed on: "And now we have 
 met again! It looks like Fate, doesn't it?" 
 
 "It certainly does," Mallory assented, bitterly; 
 then again, with zest : "Let me see that old bracelet, 
 will you?" 
 
 He tried to lay hold of it, but Kathleen giggled 
 coyly: "It's just an excuse to hold my hand." She 
 swung her arm over the back of the seat coquettishly, 
 and Marjorie made a desperate lunge at it, but 
 missed, since Kathleen, finding that Mallory did not 
 pursue the fugitive hand, brought it back at once 
 and yielded it up: 
 
 "There be careful, someone might look." 
 
 Mallory took her by the wrist in a gingerly man- 
 ner, and said, "So that's the bracelet? Take it off, 
 won't you?" 
 
 "Never! it's wished on," Kathleen protested, 
 sentimentally. "Don't you remember that evening 
 in the moonlight?" 
 
 Mallory caught Marjorie's accusing eye and lost 
 his head. He made a ferocious effort to snatch 
 the bracelet off. When this onset failed, he had 
 recourse to entreaty: "Just slip it off." Kathleen
 
 276 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 shook her head tantalizingly. Mallory urged more 
 strenuously: "Please let me see it." 
 
 Kathleen shook her head with sophistication: 
 "You'd never give it back. You'd pass it along to 
 that train-acquaintance." 
 
 "How can you think such a thing?" Mallory de- 
 murred, and once more made his appeal: "Please 
 please, slip it off." 
 
 "What on earth makes you so anxious?" Kathleen 
 demanded, with sudden suspicion. Mallory was 
 stumped, till an inspiration came to him: "I'd like 
 to to get you a nicer one. That one isn't good 
 enough for you." 
 
 Here was an argument that Kathleen could appre- 
 ciate. "Oh, how sweet of you, Harry," she gurgled, 
 and had the bracelet down to her knuckles, when 
 a sudden instinct checked her: "When you bring 
 the other, you can have this." 
 
 She pushed the circlet back, and Mallory's hopes 
 sank at the gesture. He grew frantic at being eter- 
 nally frustrated in his plans. He caught Kathleen's 
 arm and, while his words pleaded, his hands tugged: 
 "Please please let me take it for the measure 
 you know!" 
 
 Kathleen read the determination in his fierce eyes, 
 and she struggled furiously: "Why, Richard 
 Chauncey! er Billy! I'm amazed at you! Let 
 go or I'll scream!" 
 
 She rose and, twisting her arm from his grasp,
 
 "v.HV, RICHARD CHAUNCEY ! ER BILLY ! I'M AMAZED AT YOU 1 . 
 LET GO, OR I'LL SCREAM !"
 
 A DUEL FOR A BRACELET 277 
 
 confronted him with bewildered anger. Mallory 
 cast toward Marjorie a look of surrender and de- 
 spair. Marjorie laid her hand on her throat and in 
 pantomime suggested that Mallory should throttle 
 Kathleen, as he had promised. 
 
 But Mallory was incapable of further violence; 
 and when Kathleen, with all her coquetry, bent down 
 and murmured: "You are a very naughty boy, but 
 come to breakfast and we'll talk it over," he was so 
 addled that he answered: "Thanks, but I never eat 
 breakfast."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 DOWN BRAKES ! 
 
 JUST as Kathleen flung her head in baffled vexa- 
 tion, and Mallory started to slink back to Marjorie, 
 with another defeat, there came an abrupt shock as 
 if that gigantic child to whom our railroad trains are 
 toys, had reached down and laid violent hold on the 
 Trans- American in full career. 
 
 Its smooth, swift flight became suddenly such a 
 spasm of jars, shivers and thuds that Mallory cried: 
 
 "We're off the track." 
 
 He was sent flopping down the aisle like a bolster 
 hurled through the car. He brought up with a sick- 
 ening slam across the seat into which Marjorie had 
 been jounced back with a breath-taking slam. And 
 then Kathleen came flying backwards and landed in 
 a heap on both of them. 
 
 Several of the other passengers were just re- 
 turning from breakfast and they were shot and scat- 
 tered all over the car as if a great chain of human 
 beads had burst. 
 
 Women screamed, men yelled, and then while 
 they were still struggling against the seats and one 
 another, the train came to a halt. 
 
 "Thank God, we stopped in time!" Mallory 
 278
 
 DOWN BRAKES! 279 
 
 gasped, as he tried to disengage himself and Mar- 
 jorie from Kathleen. 
 
 The passengers began to regain their courage 
 with their equilibrium. Little Jimmie Wellington 
 had flown the whole length of the car, clinging to 
 his wife as if she were Francesca da Rimini, and he 
 Paolo, flitting through Inferno. The flight ended 
 at the stateroom door with such a thump that Mrs. 
 Fosdick was sure a detective had come for her at 
 last, and with a battering ram. 
 
 But when Jimmie got back breath enough to talk, 
 he remembered the train-stopping excitement of the 
 day before and called out: 
 
 "Has Mrs. Mallory lost that pup again?" 
 
 Everybody laughed uproariously at this. People 
 will laugh at anything or nothing when they have 
 been frightened almost to death and suddenly re- 
 lieved of anxiety. 
 
 Everybody was cracking a joke at Marjorie's ex- 
 pense. Everybody felt a good-natured grudge 
 against her for being such a mystery. The car was 
 ringing with hilarity, when the porter came stumbling 
 in and paused at the door, with eyes all white, hands 
 waving frantically, and lips flapping like flannel, in 
 a vain effort to speak. 
 
 The passengers stopped laughing at Marjorie, to 
 laugh at the porter. Ashton sang out: 
 
 "What's the matter with you, Porter? Are you 
 trying to crow?"
 
 280 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Everybody roared at this, till the porter finally 
 managed to articulate: 
 
 "T-t-t-train rob-rob-robbers !" 
 
 Silence shut down as if the whole crowd had been 
 smitten with paralysis.' From somewhere outside 
 and ahead came a pop-popping as of firecrackers. 
 Everybody thought, "Revolvers!" The reports 
 were mingled with barbaric yells that turned the 
 marrow in every bone to snow. 
 
 These regions are full of historic terror. All 
 along the Nevada route the conductor, the brakemen 
 and old travelers had pointed out scene after scene 
 where the Indians had slaked the thirst of the arid 
 land with white man's blood. Ashton, who had trav- 
 eled this way many times, had made himself fasci- 
 natingly horrifying the evening before and ruined 
 several breakfasts that morning in the dining-car, 
 by regaling the passengers with stories of pioneer 
 ordeals, men and women massacred in burning wag- 
 ons, or dragged away to fiendish cruelty and obscene 
 torture, staked out supine on burning wastes with 
 eyelids cut off, bound down within reach of rattle- 
 snakes, subjected to every misery that human deviltry 
 could devise. 
 
 Ashton had brought his fellow passengers to a 
 state of ecstatic excitability, and, like many a re- 
 counter of burglar stories at night, had tuned his 
 own nerves to high tension. 
 
 The violent stopping of the train, the heart-
 
 DOWN BRAKES! 281 
 
 shaking yells and shots outside, found the passengers 
 already apt to respond without delay to the appeals 
 of fright. After the first hush of dread, came the 
 reaction to panic. 
 
 Each passenger showed his own panic in his own 
 way. Ashton whirled round and round, like a horse 
 with the blind staggers, then bolted down the aisle, 
 knocking aside men and women. He climbed on a 
 seat, pulled down an upper berth, and, scrambling into 
 it, tried to shut it on himself. Mrs. Whitcomb was 
 so frightened that she assailed Ashton with fury and 
 seizing his feet, dragged him back into the aisle, and 
 beat him with her fists, demanding that he protect 
 her and save her for Sammy's sake. 
 
 Mrs. Fosdick, rushing out of her stateroom and 
 not finding her luscious-eyed husband, laid hold of 
 Jimmie Wellington and ordered him to go to the 
 rescue of her spouse. Mrs. Wellington tore her 
 hands loose, crying: "Let him go, madam. He 
 has a wife of his own to defend." 
 
 Jimmie was trying to pour out dying messages, 
 and only sputtering, forgetting that he had put his 
 watch in his mouth to hide it, though its chain was 
 still attached to his waistcoat. 
 
 Anne Cattle, who had read much about Chinese 
 atrocities to missionaries, gave herself up to death, 
 yet rejoiced greatly that she had provided a timely 
 man to lean on and should not have to enter Paradise 
 a spinster, providing she could manage to convert
 
 282 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Ira in the next few seconds, before it was everlast- 
 ingly too late. She was begging her first heathen to 
 join her in a gospel hymn. But Ira was roaring 
 curses like a pirate captain in a hurricane, and swear- 
 ing that the villains should not rob him of his bride. 
 
 Mrs. Temple wrung her twitching hands and tried 
 to drag her husband to his knees, crying: 
 
 "Oh, Walter, Walter, won't you please say a 
 prayer? a good strong prayer?" 
 
 But the preacher was so confused that he an- 
 swered: "What's the use of prayer in an emergency 
 like this?" 
 
 "Walter!" she shrieked. 
 
 "I'm on my va-vacation, you know," he stam- 
 mered. 
 
 Marjorie was trying at the same time to compel 
 Maflory to crawl under a seat and to find a place 
 to hide Snoozleums, whom she was warning not to 
 say a word. Snoozleums, understanding only that 
 his mistress was in some distress, refused to stay in 
 his basket and kept offering his services and his 
 attentions. 
 
 Suddenly Marjorie realized that Kathleen was 
 trying to faint in Mallory's arms, and forgot every- 
 thing else in a determined effort to prevent her. 
 
 After the first blood-sweat of abject fright had 
 begun to cool, the passengers came to realize that 
 the invaders were not after lives, but loot. Then 
 came a panic of miserly effort to conceal treasure.
 
 DOWN BRAKES! 283 
 
 Kathleen, finding herself banished from Mallory's 
 protection, ran to Mrs. Whitcomb, who had given 
 Ashton up as a hopeless task. 
 
 "What shall we do, oh, what, oh what shall we 
 do, dear Mrs. Wellington?" she cried. 
 
 "Don't you dare call me Mrs. Wellington!" Mrs. 
 Whitcomb screamed; then she began to flutter. "But 
 we'd better hide what we can. I hope the rah-rah- 
 robbers are ge-gentlemen-men." 
 
 She pushed a diamond locket containing a small 
 portrait of Sammy into her back hair, leaving part 
 of the chain dangling. Then she tried to stuff a 
 large handbag into her stocking. 
 
 Mrs. Fosdick found her husband at last, for he 
 made a wild dash to her side, embraced her, called 
 her his wife and defied all the powers of Nevada 
 to tear them apart. He had a brilliant idea. In 
 order to save his fat wallet from capture, he tossed 
 it through an open window. It fell at the feet of one 
 of the robbers as he ran along the side of the car, 
 shooting at such heads as were put out of windows. 
 He picked it up and dropped it into the feed-bag 
 he had swung at his side. Then running on, he 
 clambered over the brass rail of th* observation 
 platform and entered the rear of the train, as his 
 confederate, driving the conductor ahead of him, 
 forged his way aft from the front, while a third 
 masquerader aligned the engineer, the fireman, tbft 
 brakeman and the baggagemen.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 HANDS UP! 
 
 ALL this time Lieutenant Mallory had been think- 
 ing as hard as an officer in an ambuscade. His 
 harrowing experiences and incessant defeats of the 
 past days had unnerved him and shattered his self- 
 confidence. He was not afraid, but intensely dis- 
 gusted. He sat absent-mindedly patting Marjorie on 
 the back and repeating: 
 
 "Don't worry, honey, they're not going to hurt 
 anybody. They don't want anything but our money. 
 Don't worry, I won't let 'em hurt you." 
 
 But he could not shake off a sense of nausea. He 
 felt himself a representative of the military prowess 
 of the country, and here he was as helpless as a 
 man on parole. 
 
 The fact that Mallory was a soldier occurred to 
 a number of the passengers simultaneously. They 
 had been trained by early studies in those beautiful 
 works of fiction, the school histories of the United 
 States, and by many Fourths of July, to believe that 
 the American soldier is an invincible being, who has 
 never been defeated and never known fear. 
 
 They surged up to Mallory in a wave of hope. 
 Dr. Temple, being nearest, spoke first. Having 
 
 284
 
 HANDS UP! 285 
 
 learned by experience that his own prayers were not 
 always answered as he wished, had an impulse to 
 try some weapon he had never used. 
 
 "Young man," he pleaded across the back of a 
 seat, "will you kindly lend me a gun?" 
 
 Mallory answered sullenly: "Mine is in my trunk 
 on the train ahead, damn it. If I had it I'd have 
 a lot of fun." 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb had an inspiration. She ran to 
 her berth, and came back with a tiny silver-plated 
 revolver. 
 
 "I'll lend you this. Sammy gave it to me to pro- 
 tect myself in Nevada !" 
 
 Mallory smiled at the .22-calibre toy, broke it 
 open, and displayed an empty cylinder. 
 
 "Where are the pills that go with it?" he said. 
 
 "Oh, Sammy wouldn't let me have any bullets. 
 He was afraid I'd hurt myself." 
 
 Mallory returned it, with a bow. "It would make 
 an excellent nut-cracker." 
 
 "Aren't you going to use it?" Mrs. Whitcomb 
 gasped. 
 
 "It's empty," Mallory explained. 
 
 "But the robbers don't know that! Couldn't you 
 just overawe them with it?" 
 
 "Not with that," said Mallory, "unless they died 
 laughing." 
 
 Mrs. Wellington pushed forward: "Then what 
 the devil are you going to do when they come?"
 
 286 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 Mallory answered meekly: "If they request it, I 
 shall hold up my hands." 
 
 "And you won't resist?" Kathleen gasped. 
 
 "Not a resist." 
 
 "And he calls himself a soldier!" she sneered. 
 
 Mallory writhed, but all he said was : "A soldier 
 doesn't have to be a jackass. I know just enough 
 about guns not to monkey with the wrong end of 
 'em." 
 
 "Coward!" she flung at him. He turned white, 
 but Marjorie red, and made a leap at her, crying: 
 "He's the bravest man in the world. You say a 
 word, and I'll scratch your eyes out." 
 
 This reheartened Mallory a little, and he laughed 
 nervously, as he restrained her. Kathleen retreated 
 out of danger, with a parting shot: "Our engage- 
 ment is off." 
 
 "Thanks," Mallory said, and put out his hand: 
 "Will you return the bracelet?" 
 
 "I never return such things," said Kathleen. 
 
 The scene was so painful and such an anachronism 
 that Dr. Temple tried to renew a more pressing sub- 
 ject: "It's your opinion then that we'd best surren- 
 der?" 
 
 "Of course since we can't run." 
 
 Wedgewood broke in impatiently: "Well, I con- 
 sider it a dastardly outrage. I'll not submit to it. 
 I'm a subject of His Majesty the "
 
 HANDS UP! 287 
 
 "You're a subject of His Majesty the Man Behind 
 the Gun," said Mallory. 
 
 "I shall protest, none the less," Wedgewood in- 
 sisted. 
 
 Mallory grinned a little. "Have you any last 
 message to send home to your mother?" 
 
 Wedgewood was a trifle chilled at this. "D-don't 
 talk of such things," he said. 
 
 And by this time the train-robbers had hastily 
 worked their way through the other passengers, and 
 reached the frantic inhabitants of the sleeper, "Snow- 
 drop." 
 
 "Hands up! Higher!! Hands up!" 
 
 With a true sense of the dramatic, the robbers 
 sent ahead of them the most hair-raising yells. They 
 arrived simultaneously at each end of the aisle, and 
 with a few short sharp commands, straightened the 
 disorderly rabble into a beautiful line, with all 
 .palms aloft and all eyes wide and wild. 
 
 One robber drove ahead of him the conductor and 
 the other drove in Mr. Manning, whom he had 
 found trying to crawl between the shelves of the 
 linen-closet. 
 
 The marauders were apparently cattlemen, from 
 their general get-up. Their hats were pulled low, 
 and just beneath their eyes they had drawn big black 
 silk handkerchiefs, tied behind the ears and hanging 
 to the breast. 
 
 Over their shoulders they had slung the feed-
 
 288 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 bags of their horses, to serve a-s receptacles for 
 their swag. Their shirts were chalky with alkali 
 dust. Their legs were encased in heavy chaparejos, 
 and they carried each a pair of well-used Colt's re- 
 volvers that looked as big as artillery. 
 
 When the passengers had shoved and jostled into 
 line, one of the men jabbed the conductor in the 
 back with the muzzle of his gun, and snarled: 
 "Now speak your little piece, like I learned it to 
 you." 
 
 The conductor, like an awkward schoolboy, 
 grinned sheepishly, and spoke, his hands in the air 
 the while : 
 
 "Ladies and Gents, these here parties in the black 
 tidies says they want everybody to hold his or her 
 hands as high as possible till you git permission to 
 lower 'em; they advise you not to resist, because 
 they hate the sight of blood, but prefer it to argu- 
 ment." 
 
 The impatient robbers, themselves the prey of fear- 
 ful anxieties, broke in, barking like a pair of coyotes 
 in a jumble of commands: "Now, line up with your 
 backs that way, and no back talk. These guns 
 shoot awful easy. And remember, as each party 
 is finished with, they are to turn round and keep their 
 hands up, on penalty of gittin' 'em shot off. Line 
 up! Hands up! Give over there!" 
 
 Mrs. Jimmie Wellington took her time about mov- 
 ing into position, and her deliberation brought a
 
 HANDS UP! 289 
 
 howl of wrath from the robber: "Get into that line, 
 you!" 
 
 Mrs. Wellington whirled on him : "How dare you, 
 you brute?" And she turned up her nose at the 
 gun. 
 
 The anxious conductor intervened: "Better obey, 
 madame; he's an ugly lad." 
 
 "I don't mind being robbed," said Mrs. Jimmie, 
 "but I won't endure rudeness." 
 
 The robber shook his head in despair, and he tried 
 to wither her with sarcasm: "Pardong, mamselly, 
 would you be so kind and condescendin' as to step 
 into that there car before I blow your husband's gol- 
 blame head off." 
 
 This brought her to terms. She hastened to her 
 place, but put out a restraining hand on Jimmie, who 
 needed no restraint. "Certainly, to save my dear 
 husband. Don't strike him, Jimmie I" 
 
 Then each man stuck one revolver into its con- 
 venient holster, and, covering the passengers with the 
 other, proceeded to frisk away valuables with a 
 speed and agility that would have looked prettier if 
 those impatient-looking muzzles had not pointed 
 here, there and everywhere with such venomous 
 threats. 
 
 And so they worked from each end of the car to- 
 ward the middle. Their hands ran swiftly over 
 bodies with a loathsome familiarity that could only 
 be resented, not revenged. Their hands dived into
 
 290 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 pockets, and up sleeves, and into women's hair, 
 everywhere that a jewel or a bill might be secreted. 
 And always a rough growl or a swing of the revolver 
 silenced any protest. 
 
 Their heinous fingers had hardly begun to ply, 
 when the solemn stillness was broken by a chuckle 
 and low hoot of laughter, a darkey's unctuous laugh- 
 ter. At such a place it was more shocking than at 
 a funeral. 
 
 "What ails you?" was the nearest robber's 
 demand. 
 
 The porter tried to wipe his streaming eyes with- 
 out lowering his hands, as he chuckled on: "I I 
 just thought of sumpum funny." 
 
 "Funny!" was the universal groan. 
 
 "I was just thinking," the porter snickered, "what 
 mighty poor pickings you-all are goin' to git out of 
 me. Whilst if you had 'a' waited till I got to 'Frisco, 
 I'd jest nachelly been oozin' money." 
 
 The robber relieved him of a few dimes and quar- 
 ters and ordered him to turn round, but the black 
 face whirled back as he heard from the other end 
 of the car Wedgewood's indignant complaint: "I 
 say, this is an outrage!" 
 
 "Ah, close your trap and turn round, or I'll " 
 
 The porter's smile died away. "Good Lawd," he 
 sighed, "they're goin' to skin that British lion ! And 
 I just wore myself out on him." 
 
 The far-reaching effect of the whole procedure
 
 HANDS UP! 291 
 
 was just beginning to dawn on the porter. This lit- 
 tle run on the bank meant a period of financial 
 stringency for him. He watched the hurrying hands 
 a moment or two, then his wrath rose to terrible 
 proportions : 
 
 "Look here, man," he shouted at the robber, 
 "ain't you-all goin' to leave these here passengers 
 nothin' a tall?" 
 
 "Not on purpose, nigger." 
 
 "No small change, or nothin'?" 
 
 "Nary a red." 
 
 "Then, passengers," the porter proclaimed, while 
 the robber watched him in amazement; "then, pas- 
 sengers, I want to give you-all fair warnin' heah and 
 now : No tips, no whisk-broom !" 
 
 Perhaps because their hearts were already over- 
 flowing with distress, the passengers endured this ap- 
 palling threat wthout comment, and when there was 
 a commotion at the other end of the line, all eyes 
 rolled that way. 
 
 Mr. Baumann was making an effort to take his 
 leave, with great politeness. 
 
 "Excoose, pleass. I vant to get by, pleass !" 
 
 "Get by!" the other robber gasped. "Why, 
 you " 
 
 "But I'm not a passenger," Mr. Baumann urged, 
 with a confidential smile, "I've been going through 
 the train myself." 
 
 "Much obliged ! Hand over !" And a rude hand
 
 292 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 rummaged his pockets. It was a heart-rending sight. 
 
 "Oi oi!" he wailed, "don't you allow no courte- 
 sies to the profession?" And when the inexorable 
 thief continued to pluck his money, his watch, his 
 scarf-pin, he grew wroth indeed. "Stop, stop, I 
 refuse to pay. I'll go into benkruptcy foist." But 
 still the larceny continued; fingers even lifted three 
 cigars from his pockets, two for himself and a good 
 one for a customer. This loss was grievous, but his 
 wildest protest was: "Oh, here, my frient, you don't 
 vant my business carts." 
 
 "Keep 'em !" growled the thief, and then, glancing 
 up, he saw on the tender inwards of Mr. Baumann's 
 upheld palms two huge glisteners, which their owner 
 had turned that way in a misguided effort to conceal 
 the stones. The robber reached up for them. 
 
 "Take 'em. You're velcome !" said Mr. Baumann v 
 with rare presence of mind. "Those Nevada near- 
 lies looks almost like real." 
 
 "Keep 'em," said the robber, as he passed on, and 
 Mr. Baumann almost swooned with joy, for, as he 
 whispered to Wedgewood a moment later: "They're 
 really real!" 
 
 Now the eye-chain rolled the other way, for Little 
 Jimmie Wellington was puffing with rage. The 
 other robber, having massaged him thoroughly, but 
 without success, for his pocketbook, noticed that Jim- 
 mie's left heel was protruding from his left shoe, 
 and made Jimmie perform the almost incredible feat
 
 HANDS UP! 293 
 
 of standing on one foot, while he unshod him and 
 took out the hidden wealth. 
 
 "There goes our honeymoon, Lucretia," he 
 moaned. But she whispered proudly: "Never mind, 
 I have my rings to pawn." 
 
 "Oh, you have, have you? Well, I'll be your lit- 
 tle uncle," the kneeling robber laughed, as he over- 
 heard, and he continued his outrageous search till 
 he found them, knotted in a handkerchief, under her 
 hat. 
 
 She protested: "You wouldn't leave me in Reno 
 without a diamond, would you?" 
 
 "I wouldn't, eh?" he grunted. "Do you think I'm 
 in this business for my health?" 
 
 And he snatched off two earrings she had forgot- 
 ten to remove. Fortunately, they were affixed to her 
 lobes with fasteners. 
 
 Mrs. Jimmie was thoroughbred enough not to 
 wince. She simply commented : "You brutes are al- 
 most as bad as the Customs officers at New York." 
 
 And now another touch of light relieved the 
 gloom. Kathleen was next in line, and she had been 
 forcing her lips into their most attractive smile, and 
 keeping her eyes winsomely mellow, for the robber's 
 benefit. Marjorie could not see the smile; she could 
 only see that Kathleen was next. She whispered to 
 Mallory : 
 
 "They'll get the bracelet! They'll get the brace- 
 let!"
 
 294 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 And Mallory could have danced with glee. But 
 Kathleen leaned coquettishly toward the masked 
 stranger, and threw all her art into her tone as she 
 murmured : 
 
 "I'm sure you're too brave to take my things. 
 I've always admired men with the courage of Claude 
 Duval." 
 
 The robber was taken a trifle aback, but he 
 growled: "I don't know the party you speak of but 
 cough up!" 
 
 "Listen to her," Marjorie whispered in horror; 
 "she's flirting with the train-robber." 
 
 "What won't some women flirt with!" Mallory 
 exclaimed. 
 
 The robber studied Kathleen a little more atten- 
 tively, as he whipped off her necklace and her rings. 
 She looked good to him, and so willing, that he mut- 
 tered: "Say, lady, if you'll give me a kiss, I'll give 
 you that diamond ring you got on." 
 
 "All right!" laughed Kathleen, with triumphant 
 compliance. 
 
 "My God!" Mallory groaned, "what won't some 
 women do for a diamond!" 
 
 The robber bent close, and was just raising his 
 mask to collect his ransom, when his confederate 
 glanced his way, and knowing his suceptible nature, 
 foresaw his intention, and shouted: "Stop it, Jake. 
 You 'tend strictly to business, or I'll blow your nose 
 off."
 
 HANDS UP! 295 
 
 "Oh, all right," grumbled the reluctant gallant, as 
 he drew the ring from her finger. "Sorry, miss, but 
 I can't make the trade," and he added with an un- 
 wonted gentleness: "You can turn round now." 
 
 Kathleen was glad to hide the blushes of defeat, 
 but Marjorie was still more bitterly disappointed. 
 She whispered to Mallory : "He didn't get the brace- 
 let, after all."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 WOLVES IN THE FOLD 
 
 MALLORY'S heart sank to its usual depth, but Mar- 
 jorie had another of her inspirations. She startled 
 everybody by suddenly beckoning and calling: "Ex- 
 cuse me, Mr. Robber. Come here, please." 
 
 The curious gallant edged her way, keeping a 
 sharp watch along the line: "What d'you want?'* 
 
 Marjorie leaned nearer, and spoke in a low tone 
 with an amiable smile: "That lady who wanted to 
 kiss you has a bracelet up her sleeve." 
 
 The robber stared across his mask, and won- 
 dered, but laughed, and grunted: "Much obliged." 
 Then he went back, and tapped Kathleen on the 
 shoulder. When she turned round, in the hope that 
 he had reconsidered his refusal to make the trade, 
 he infuriated her by growling: "Excuse, me, miss, 
 I overlooked a bet." 
 
 He ran his hand along her arm, and found her 
 bracelet, and accomplished what Mallory had 
 failed in, its removal. 
 
 "Don't, don't," cried Kathleen, "it's wished on." 
 
 "I wish it off," the villain laughed, and it joined 
 the growing heap in the feed-bag. 
 
 296
 
 WOLVES IN THE FOLD 29? 
 
 Kathleen, doubly enraged, broke out viciously: 
 "You're a common, sneaking " 
 
 "Ah, turn round!" the man roared, and she obeyed 
 in silence. 
 
 Then he explored Mrs. Whitcomb, but with such 
 small reward that he said: "Say, you'd oughter have 
 a pocketbook somewheres. Where's it at?" 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb blushed furiously: "None of your 
 business, you low brute." 
 
 "Perdooce, madame," the scoundrel snorted, "per- 
 dooce the purse, or I'll hunt for it myself." 
 
 Mrs. Whitcomb turned away, and after some 
 management of her skirts, slapped her handbag into 
 the eager palm with a wrathful: "You're no gentle- 
 man, sir!" 
 
 "If I was, I'd be in Wall Street," he laughed. 
 "Now you can turn round." And when she turned, 
 he saw a bit of chain depending from her back hair. 
 He tugged, and brought away the locket, and with 
 laying the tress on her shoulder, and proceeded to 
 sound Ashton for hidden wealth. 
 
 And now Mrs. Temple began to sob, as she parted 
 with an old-fashioned brooch and two old-fashioned 
 rings that had been her little vanities for the quarter 
 of a century and more. The old clergyman could 
 have wept with her at the vandalism. He turned on 
 the wretch with a heartsick appeal: 
 
 "Can't you spare those? Didn't you ever have a 
 mother?"
 
 298 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 The robber started, his fierce eyes softened, his 
 voice choked, and he gulped hard as he drew the 
 back of his hand across his eyes. 
 
 "Aw, hell," he whimpered, "that ain't fair. If 
 you're goin' to remind me of me poor old mo-mo- 
 mother " 
 
 But the one called Jake the Claude Duval who 
 had been prevented from a display of human senti- 
 ment, did not intend to be cheated. He thundered : 
 "Stop it, Bill. You 'tend strictly to business, or I'll 
 blow your mush-bowl off. You know your Maw 
 died before you was born." 
 
 This reminder sobered the weeping thief at once, 
 and he went back to work ruthlessly. "Oh, all right, 
 Jake. Sorry, ma'am, but business is business." And 
 he dumped Mrs. Temple's trinkets into the satchel. 
 It was too much for the little old lady's little old 
 husband. He fairly shrieked: 
 
 "Young man, you're a damned scoundrel, and the 
 best argument I ever saw for hell-fire!" 
 
 Mrs. Temple's grief changed to horror at such a 
 bolt from the blue: "Walter!" she gasped, "such 
 language!" 
 
 But her husband answered in self-defence : "Even 
 a minister has a right to swear once in his lifetime." 
 
 Mallory almost dropped in his tracks, and Mar- 
 jorie keeled over on him, as he gasped : "Good Lord, 
 Doctor Temple, you are a a minister?" 
 
 "Yes, my boy," the old man confessed, glad that
 
 WOLVES IN THE FOLD 299 
 
 the robbers had relieved him of his guilty secret 
 along with the rest of his private properties. Mai- 
 lory looked at the collapsing Marjorie, and groaned: 
 "And he was in the next berth all this time !" 
 
 The unmasking of the old fraud made a second 
 sensation. Mrs. Fosdick called from far down the 
 aisle: "Dr. Temple, you're not a detective?" 
 
 Mrs. Temple shouted back furiously: "How dare 
 you?" 
 
 But Mrs. Fosdick was crying to her luscious-eyed 
 mate: "Oh, Arthur, he's not a detective. Embrace 
 me!" 
 
 And they embraced, while the robbers looked on 
 aghast at the sudden oblivion they had fallen into. 
 They focussed the attention on themselves again, 
 however, with a ferocious: "Here, hands up!" But 
 they did not see Mr. and Mrs. Fosdick steal a kiss 
 behind their upraised arms, for the robber to whose 
 lot Mallory fell was gloating over his well-filled 
 wallet. Mallory saw it go with fortitude, but noting 
 a piece of legal paper, he said: "Say, old man, you 
 don't want that marriage license, do you?" 
 
 The robber handled it as if it were hot as if he 
 had burned his fingers on some such document once 
 before, and he stuffed it back in Mallory's pocket. 
 "I should say not. Keep it. Turn round." 
 
 Meanwhile the other felon turned up another 
 beautiful pile of bills in Dr. Temple's pocket. "Not
 
 300 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 so worse for a parson," he grinned. "You must be 
 one of them Fifth Avenue sky-shaffures." 
 
 And now Mrs. Temple's gentle eyes and voice 
 filled with tears again : "Oh, don't take that. That's 
 the money for his vacation after thirty long years. 
 Please don't take that." 
 
 Her appeals seemed always to find the tender 
 spot of this robber's heart, for he hesitated, and 
 called out: "Shall we overlook the parson's wad, 
 podner?" 
 
 "Take it, and shut up, you mollycoddle!" was the 
 answer he got, and the vacation funds joined the old 
 gewgaws. 
 
 And now everybody had been robbed but Marjorie. 
 She happened to be at the center of the line, and 
 both men reached her at the same time: "I seen 
 her first," the first one shouted. 
 
 "You did not," the other roared. 
 
 "I tell you I did." 
 
 "I tell you I did." They glared threateningly 
 at each other, and their revolvers seemed to meet, 
 like two game cocks, beak to beak. 
 
 The porter voiced the general hope, when he 
 sighed: "Oh, Lawd, if they'd only shoot each other." 
 
 This brought the rivals to their evil senses, and 
 they swept the line with those terrifying muzzles and 
 that heart-stopping yelp : "Hands up !" 
 
 Bill said: "You take the east side of her, and I'll 
 take the west."
 
 WOLVES IN THE FOLD 301 
 
 "All right." 
 
 And they began to snatch away her side-combs, the 
 little gold chain at her throat, the jewelled pin that 
 Mallory had given her as the first token of his love. 
 
 The young soldier had foreseen this. He had 
 foreseen the wild rage that would unseat his reason 
 when he saw the dirty hands of thieves laid rudely 
 on the sacred body of his beloved. But his soldier- 
 schooling had drilled him to govern his impulses, to 
 play the coward when there was no hope of success- 
 ful battle, and to strike only when the moment was 
 ripe with perfect opportunity. 
 
 He had kept telling himself that when the finger 
 of one of these men touched so much as Marjorie's 
 hem, he would be forced to fling himself on the pro- 
 fane miscreant. And he kept telling himself that the 
 moment he did this, the other man would calmly 
 blow a hole through him, and drop him at Mar- 
 jorie's feet, while the other passengers shrank away 
 in terror. 
 
 He told himself that, while it might be a fine im- 
 pulse to leap to her defence, it was a fool im- 
 pulse to leap off a precipice and leave Marjorie alone 
 among strangers, with a dead man and a scandal, as 
 the only rewards for his impulse. He vowed that 
 he would hold himself in check, and let the robbers 
 take everything, leaving him only the name of cow- 
 ard, provided they left him also the power to defend 
 Marjorie better at another time.
 
 302 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 And now that he saw the clumsy-handed thugs 
 rifling his sweetheart's jewelry, he felt all that he had 
 foreseen, and his head fought almost in vain against 
 the white fire of his heart. Between them he trem- 
 bled like a leaf, and the sweat globed on his fore- 
 head. 
 
 The worst of it was the shivering terror of Mar- 
 jorie, and the pitiful eyes she turned on him. But he 
 clenched his teeth and waited, thinking fiercely, 
 watching, like a hovering eagle, a chance to swoop. 
 
 But the robbers kept glancing this way and that, 
 and one motion would mean death. They themselves 
 were so overwrought with their own ordeal and its 
 immediate conclusion, that they would have killed 
 anybody. Mallory shifted his foot cautiously, and 
 instantly a gun was jabbed into his stomach, with a 
 snarl: "Don't you move!" 
 
 "Who's moving?" Mallory answered, with a poor 
 imitation of a careless laugh. 
 
 And now the man called Bill had reached Mar- 
 jorie's right hand. He chortled: "Golly, look at the 
 shiners." 
 
 But Jake, who had chosen Marjorie's left hand, 
 roared : 
 
 "Say, you cheated. All I get is this measly plain 
 gold band." 
 
 "Oh, don't take that!" Marjorie gasped, clench- 
 ing her hand. 
 
 Mallory's heart ached at the thought of this final
 
 WOLVES IN THE FOLD 303 
 
 sacrilege. He had the license, and the minister at 
 last and now the fiends were going to carry off the 
 wedding ring. He controlled himself with a desper- 
 ate effort, and stooped to plead : "Say, old man, don't 
 take that. That's not fair." 
 
 "Shut up, both of you," Jake growled, and jabbed 
 him again with the gun. 
 
 He gave the ring a jerk, but Marjorie, in the very 
 face of the weapon, would not let go. She struggled 
 and tugged, weeping and imploring: "Oh, don't, 
 don't take that! It's my wedding ring." 
 
 "Agh, what do I care!" the ruffian snarled, and 
 wrenched her finger so viciously that she gave a little 
 cry of pain. 
 
 That broke Mallory's heart. With a wild, bel- 
 lowing, "Damn you !" he hurled himself at the man, 
 with only his bare hands for weapons.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF 
 
 PASSION sent Mallory into the unequal fight with 
 two armed and desperate outlaws. But reason had 
 planned the way. He had been studying the robber 
 all the time, as if the villain were a war-map, 
 studying his gestures, his way of turning, and how 
 he held the revolver. He had noted that the man, 
 as he frisked the passengers, did not keep his finger 
 on the trigger, but on the guard. 
 
 Marjorie's little battle threw the desperado off 
 his balance a trifle ; as he recovered, Mallory struck 
 him, and swept him on over against the back of a 
 seat. At the same instant, Mallory's right hand 
 went like lightning to the trigger guard, and gripped 
 the fingers in a vise of steel, while he drove the man's 
 elbow back against his side. Mallory's left hand 
 meanwhile flung around his enemy's neck, and gave 
 him a spinning fall that sent his left hand out for 
 balance. It fell across the back of the seat, and Mal- 
 lory pinioned it with elbow and knee before it could 
 escape. 
 
 All in the same crowded moment, his left knuckles 
 jolted the man's chin in air, and so bewildered him 
 
 304
 
 A HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF 305 
 
 that his muscles relaxed enough for Mallory's right 
 fingers to squirm their way to the trigger, and aim 
 the gun at the other robber, and finally to get entire 
 control of it. 
 
 The thing had happened in such a flash that the 
 second outlaw could hardly believe his eyes. The 
 shriek of the astounded passengers, and the grunt of 
 Mallory's prisoner, as he crashed backward, woke 
 him to the need for action. He caught his other 
 gun from its holster, and made ready for a double 
 volley, but there was nothing to aim at. Mallory 
 was crouched in the seat, and almost perfectly cov- 
 ered by a human shield. 
 
 Still, from force of habit and foolhardy pluck, 
 Bill aimed at Mallory's right eyebrow, just abaft 
 Jake's right ear, and shouted his old motto : 
 
 "Hands up! you!" 
 
 "Hands up yourself!" answered Mallory, and his 
 victim, shuddering at the fierce look in his com- 
 rade's eyes, gasped: "For God's sake, don't shoot, 
 Bill!" 
 
 Even then the fellow stood his ground, and de- 
 bated the issue, till Mallory threw such ringing de- 
 termination into one last: "Hands up, or by God, I'll 
 fire!" that he caved in, lifted his fingers from the 
 triggers, turned the guns up, and slowly raised both 
 hands above his head. 
 
 A profound "Ah!" of relief soughed through the 
 car, and Mallory, still keeping his eye on Bill, got
 
 306 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 down cautiously from the seat. The moment he re- 
 leased Jake's left hand, it darted to the holster 
 where his second gun was waiting. But before he 
 could clutch the butt of it, Mallory jabbed the muzzle 
 of his own revolver in the man's back, and growled: 
 "Put 'em up!" And the robber's left hand joined 
 the right in air, while Mallory's left hand lifted the 
 revolver, and took possession of it. 
 
 Mallory stood for a moment, breathing hard and 
 a little incredulous at his own swift, sweet triumph. 
 Then he made an effort to speak as if this sort of 
 thing were quite common with him, as if he over- 
 powered a pair of outlaws every morning before 
 breakfast, but his voice cracked as he said, in a 
 drawing-room tone: 
 
 "Dr. Temple, would you mind relieving that man 
 of those guns?" 
 
 Dr. Temple was so set up by this distinction that 
 he answered: "Not by a " 
 
 "Walter!" Mrs. Temple checked him, before he 
 could utter the beautiful word, and Dr. Temple 
 looked at her almost reproachfully, as he sighed: 
 "Golly, I should like to swear just once more." 
 
 Then he reached up and disarmed the man who 
 had taken his wallet and his wife's keepsakes. But 
 the doctor was not half so happy over the recovery 
 of his property as over the unbelievable luxury of 
 finding himself taking two revolvers away from a 
 masked train-robber.
 
 A HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF 307 
 
 American children breathe in this desperado ro- 
 mance with their earliest traditions, and Dr. Temple 
 felt all his boyhood zest surge back with a boy's tre- 
 mendous rapture in a deed of derring-do. And now 
 nothing could check his swagger, as he said to Mai- 
 lory: 
 
 "What shall we do with these dam-ned sinners?" 
 
 He felt like apologizing for the clerical relapse 
 into a pulpitism, but Mallory answered briskly: 
 "We'd better take them into the smoking room. 
 They scare the ladies. But first, will the conductor 
 take those bags and distribute the contents to their 
 rightful owners ?" 
 
 The conductor was proud to act as lieutenant to 
 this Lieutenant, and he quickly relieved the robbers 
 of their loot-kits. 
 
 Mallory smiled. "Don't give anybody my things," 
 and then he jabbed his robber with one of the re- 
 volvers, and commanded: "Forward, march!" 
 
 The little triumphal procession moved off, with 
 Bill in the lead, followed by Dr. Temple, looking 
 like a whole field battery, followed by Jake, followed 
 by Mallory, followed by the porter and as many of 
 the other passengers as could crowd into the smoking 
 room. 
 
 The rest went after those opulent feed-bags.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLICKETY 
 
 MARJORIE, as the supposed wife of the rescuing 
 angel, was permitted first search, and the first thing 
 she hunted for was a certain gold bracelet that was 
 none of hers. She found it and seized it with a 
 prayer of thanks, and concealed it among her own 
 things. 
 
 Mrs. Temple gave her a guilty start, by speaking 
 across a barrier: 
 
 "Mrs. Mallory, your husband is the bravest man 
 on earth." 
 
 "Oh, I know he is," Marjorie beamed, and added 
 with a spasm of conscience: "but he isn't my hus- 
 band!" 
 
 Mrs. Temple gasped in horror, but Marjorie 
 dragged her close, and poured out the whole story, 
 while the other passengers recovered their proper- 
 ties with as much joy as if they were all new gifts 
 found on a bush. 
 
 Meanwhile, under Mallory's guidance, the porter 
 fastened the outlaws together back to back with the 
 straps of their own feed-bags. The porter was re- 
 joicing that his harvest of tips was not blighted after 
 all. 
 
 308
 
 CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLICKETY 309 
 
 Mallory completed his bliss, by giving him Dr. 
 Temple's brace of guns, and establishing him as 
 jailer, with a warning: "Now, porter, don't take 
 your eye off 'em." 
 
 "Lordy, I won't bat an eyelid." 
 
 "If either of these lads coughs, put a hole through 
 both of 'em." 
 
 The porter chuckled: "My fingers is just a-itchin' 
 fer them lovin' triggers." 
 
 And now Mr. Baumann, having scrambled back 
 his possessions, hastened into the smoking room, and 
 regarded the two hangdog culprits with magnificent 
 generosity; he forgave them their treatment. In 
 fact, he went so far as to say: "You gents vill be 
 gettin' off at Reno, yes? You'll be needing a good 
 firm of lawyers. Don't forget us. Baumann" (he 
 put a card in Bill's hat) "and Blumen" (he put a 
 card in Jake's hat) . "Avoid substitoots." 
 
 Mallory pocketed two of the captured revolvers, 
 lest a need might arise suddenly again. As he hur- 
 ried down the aisle, he was received with cheers. 
 The passengers gave him an ovation, but he only 
 smiled timidly, and made haste to Marjorie's 
 side. 
 
 She regarded him with such idolatry that he al- 
 most regretted his deed. But this mood soon passed 
 in her excitement, and in a moment she was surrep- 
 titiously showing him the bracelet. He became an 
 accessory after the fact, and shared her guilt, for
 
 310 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 when she groaned with a sudden droop: "She'll get 
 it back!" he grimly answered, "Oh, no she won't!" 
 hoisted the window, and flung the bracelet into a lit- 
 tle pool by the side of the track, with a farewell: 
 "Good-bye, trouble !" 
 
 As he drew his head in, a side glance showed him 
 that up near the engine a third train-robber held the 
 miserably weary train crew in line. 
 
 He found the conductor just about to pull the bell- 
 rope, to proceed. The conductor had forgotten all 
 about the rest of the staff. Mallory took him aside, 
 and told him the situation, then turned to Marjorie, 
 said: "Excuse me a minute," and hurried forward. 
 The conductor followed Mallory through the train 
 into the baggage coach. 
 
 The first news the third outlaw had of the counter- 
 revolution ' occurring in the sleeping car was a 
 mysterious bullet that flicked the dust near his heel, 
 and a sonorus shout of "Hands up !" As he whirled 
 in amaze, he saw two revolvers aimed point blank 
 at him from behind a trunk. He hoisted his guns 
 without parley, and the train crew trussed him up in 
 short order. 
 
 Mallory ran back to Marjorie, and the conductor 
 followed more slowly, reassuring the passengers in 
 the other cars, and making certain that the train was 
 ready to move on its way. 
 
 Mallory went straight to Dr. Temple, with a 
 burning demand:
 
 CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLICKETY 311 
 
 "You dear old fraud, will you marry me?" 
 
 Dr. Temple laughed and nodded. Marjorie and 
 Mrs. Temple had been telling him the story of the 
 prolonged elopement, and he was eager to atone for 
 his own deception, by putting an end to their 
 misery. 
 
 "Just wait one moment," he said, and as a final 
 proof of affection, he unbuttoned his collar and put 
 it on backwards. Mrs. Temple brought out the dis- 
 carded bib, and he donned it meekly. The trans- 
 formation explained many a mystery the old man had 
 enmeshed himself in. 
 
 Even as he made ready for the ceremony, the con- 
 ductor appeared, looked him over, grinned, and 
 reached for the bell-cord, with a cheerful: "All 
 aboard!" 
 
 Mallory had a sort of superstitious dread, not 
 entirely unfounded on experience, that if the train 
 got under way again, it would run into some new 
 obstacle to his marriage. He turned to the conduc- 
 tor: 
 
 "Say, old man, just hold the train till after my 
 wedding, won't you?" 
 
 It was not much to ask in return for his services, 
 but the conductor was tired of being second in com- 
 mand. He growled : 
 
 "Not a minute. We're 'way behind time." 
 
 "You might wait till I'm married," Mallory 
 pleaded.
 
 312 EXCUSE ME! 
 
 "Not on your life!" the conductor answered, and 
 he pulled the bell-rope twice; in the distance, the 
 whistle answered twice. 
 
 Mallory's temper flared again. He cried: "This 
 train doesn't go another step till I'm married!" He 
 reached up and pulled the bell-rope once ; in the dis- 
 tance the whistle sounded once. 
 
 This was high treason, and the conductor ad- 
 vanced on him threateningly, as he seized the cord 
 once more. "You touch that rope again, and 
 I'll " 
 
 "Oh, no, you won't," said Mallory, as he whisked 
 a revolver from his right pocket and jammed it into 
 the conductor's watch-pocket. The conductor came 
 to attention. 
 
 Then Mallory, standing with his right hand on 
 military duty, put out his left hand, and gave the 
 word: "Now, parson." 
 
 He smiled still more as he heard Kathleen's voice 
 wailing: "But I can't find my bracelet. Where's my 
 bracelet?" 
 
 "Silence ! Silence !" Dr. Temple commanded, and 
 then: "Join hands, my children." 
 
 Marjorie shifted Snoozleums to her left arm, put 
 her right hand into Mallory's, and Dr. Temple, 
 standing between them, began to drone the ritual. 
 Exerybody said they made a right pretty picture. 
 
 When the old clergyman had done his work, the 
 young husband-at-last graciously rescinded military
 
 CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLICKETY 313 
 
 law, recalled the artillery from the conductor's very 
 midst, and remembering Manila, smiled: 
 "You may fire when ready, conductor." 
 The conductor's rage had cooled, and he slapped 
 the bridegroom on the back with one hand, as he 
 pulled the cord with the other. The train began to 
 creak and tug and shift. The ding-dong of the bell 
 floated murmurously back as from a lofty steeple, 
 and the clickety-click, click-clickety-click quickened 
 and softened into a pleasant gossip, as the speed 
 grew, and the way was so smooth for the wheels that 
 they seemed to be spinning on rails of velvet. 
 
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