“I love you!” he shouted.
The translucent fat man and his wife groped for each other feverishly, and a coloured porter touched Henry Millick Chester on the shoulder.
“Be in Richmon’ less’n fi’ minutes now,” said the porter. He tapped the youth’s shoulder twice more; it is his office to awaken the rapt dreamer. “Richmon,’ In’iana, less’n fi’ minutes now,” he repeated more slowly.
Henry gave him a stunned and dishevelled “What?”
“You get off Richmon’, don’t you?”
“What of it? We haven’t passed Dayton yet.”
“Yessuh, long ’go. Pass’ Dayton eight-fifty. Be in Richmon’ mighty quick now.”
The porter appeared to be a malicious liar. Henry appealed pitifully to the girl.
“But we haven’t passed Dayton?”
“Yes, just after you sat down by me. We stopped several minutes.”