The white man had spread himself over two seats, and was smoking vigorously, from time to time spitting carelessly in the aisle, when the conductor entered the compartment.
"Captain," said Miller, "this car is plainly marked 'Colored.' I have paid first-class fare, and I object to riding in a smoking car."
"All right," returned the conductor, frowning irritably. "I'll speak to him."
He walked over to the white passenger, with whom he was evidently acquainted, since he addressed him by name.
"Captain McBane," he said, "it's against the law for you to ride in the nigger car."
"Who are you talkin' to?" returned the other. "I'll ride where I damn please."
"Yes, sir, but the colored passenger objects. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to go into the smoking-car."
"The hell you say!" rejoined McBane. "I'll leave this car when I get good and ready, and that won't be till I've finished this cigar. See?"
He was as good as his word. The conductor escaped from the car before Miller had time for further expostulation. Finally McBane, having thrown the stump of his cigar into the aisle and added to the floor a finishing touch in the way of expectoration, rose and went back into the white car.
Left alone in his questionable glory, Miller buried himself again in his newspaper, from which he did not look up until the engine stopped at a tank station to take water.