Soon she and Nan were sleeping quietly in the funny, narrow beds that were so like shelves, and the next thing Patty knew was a knocking at the door of the compartment.
She was awake in an instant and shook the sleeping Nan.
“Wake up,” she whispered, “there’s a brigand knocking at the door.”
“Nonsense!” said Nan, rubbing her eyes, “what do you mean?” The knock was repeated and Nan jumped up.
“What shall we do?” she said. “Perhaps we’d better not answer at all.”
But the knocks became more peremptory, and throwing on a kimono, Nan went to the door, and without opening it, said, “Who’s there?”
“Open the door,” said a commanding voice.
“It is a brigand!” said Patty, hopping about on one foot. “Where are your jewels, Nan?”
“Your father has them. Don’t be silly, Patty; of course it isn’t a brigand, but who can it be? Perhaps Fred is ill.”
As the knocking continued, and as the voice kept on demanding that the door be opened, Nan opened it cautiously and saw before her a big burly man in an official uniform.