Ruth closed the door of the compartment against curious eyes and sank down on one of the cushioned seats which at night could be converted into fairly comfortable beds.
“It’s all perfectly wonderful,” she agreed with Helen. “One usually doesn’t expect much privacy on a train. But, oh, Tom,” with an appealing glance at the latter, “how about something to eat?”
“And that time you hit the nail right on the head, Ruthie,” agreed Tom cheerfully. “I shall order lunch at once, and unless you young ladies object to our society——”
“We should,” murmured Helen.
“We will dine right here in comfort——”
“To say nothing of style!” finished Ruth, with a delighted laugh. “Oh, Tom, please do!”
Tom rang the bell that would summon the porter and struck an attitude.
“Waiter! The tray!” he declared, and a second later as though the words and not the bell had summoned the black genii of the train, there came a knock upon the door.
Tom sent for a menu card and when it came ordered what sounded to them all like a sumptuous feast.
“The boy is good,” said Chess, when the party was once more alone. “He ordered enough for another half dozen of us.”