"Everybody on an advance car has a nickname, you know. You'll forget your real names, if you stay on an advance car long enough. I couldn't remember mine if I didn't get a letter occasionally to remind me of it, and sometimes I almost feel as if I was opening another fellow's letters when I open my own."
"Glad to know you, boys," smiled Phil. "Do you know where we are to sleep?"
"See that pile of paper up there?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's that or the floor for yours. All the rest of the berths are occupied, unless the Boss is going to let you sleep in the office with him."
"I rather think he will not invite us. He seems to be in a huff about something tonight," answered Phil dryly, at which there was a loud laugh.
"What's this Johnnie Bull tells me about a roughhouse in the office this afternoon?" demanded Conley suddenly.
"I would rather not talk about that," replied Phil, coloring.
"Come here, you Englishman, and tell us all about it. Our friend is too modest."
The porter did not respond quickly enough to suit the men so they pounced upon him and tossed him to the top of a pile of paper.