"I don't blame him the least in the world. I think he was a wonderfully nice baggageman, for men of that class are so apt to swear when they get very warm,—at least, so I've heard. And did you hear—"
"Tickets, ma'am," observed the conductor.
"There, I didn't mean to keep you waiting a minute;" and Mary Leonard opened her pocketbook, "but I forgot all about the tickets. Oh, Lucy, I gave you the tickets, and I took the checks."
"Yes, to be sure," said Lucy, opening her pocketbook.
"I'll put them in the seat for you, ladies, like this," said the conductor, smiling, "and then you won't have any more trouble."
"Oh, yes, thank you," said Lucy Eastman.
"What a nice conductor!" observed Mary Leonard.
"Did I hear what, Mary?—you were telling me something."
"Oh, about the baggageman. I heard him say to his assistant, 'Don't you ever git mad with women, Bobby. It ain't no use. If it was always the same woman and the same trunk, perhaps you could learn her sometime; but it ain't, and you've got to take 'em just as they come, and get rid of 'em the best way you can—they don't bear instruction.'"
Mary Leonard and Lucy Eastman threw back their heads and laughed; it was genuine, low, fresh laughter, and a good thing to hear. After that there was silence for a few moments as the train sped on its way.