The rest of the trip to New York, though enlivened by high spirits and merry chatter, was uneventful. The train arrived not only on time, but a little ahead of it. Which, for that particular line, was rather unusual.
They had decided to postpone luncheon until they were safely established on the western bound train. Now, as they gathered up wraps and other belongings in a flurry of excitement, Helen confessed to an extreme and gnawing hunger.
“I don’t think I can ever wait till we get on board the train, Ruthie,” she complained plaintively. “I am really ravenous. If we should pass a sandwich stand anywhere along the way, don’t be surprised if I make a wild dash for a frankfurter and rolls, or some other such delicacy.”
It was necessary for Chess to make a last-minute rush to the ticket office, since he had made no reservation. He was lucky enough to secure an upper berth in the same car with Tom, so that the party would be pretty close together.
“Lucky you could grab off anything, Chess, old boy,” said Tom, as the latter came up to them panting.
“That’ll be all right,” said Chess. “I’d made up my mind to come if I had to sleep on the roof.”
“By comparison the upper ought to be quite comfortable,” chuckled Helen, and Chess was heard to murmur something about “having suspected before that that girl had no heart and now was quite sure of it.”
Gayly they allowed an obsequious porter—he was obsequious because Tom had tipped him generously in advance and commissioned him to let the young ladies in the compartment lack for no comfort during the journey—to lead them to their particular private little cubbyhole which was to be such a luxury to them on the long trip.
Suitcases disposed of, the girls looked about them with all the pride of possession.
“Oh, isn’t this perfectly scrumptious, Ruthie Fielding?” cried Helen. “I’ll tell you we are traveling de luxe this time.”