"Sure," said Carson, and endeavored to laugh.
CHAPTER XIV
NUMBER 4
One day not long subsequent to the little meeting of Decherd and Carson in Eddring's office, there chanced to be in the same southern city one James Thompson, traveling representative of a furnishing house in the North, he being then engaged in completing his regular business trip through that part of the country. Mr. Thompson, it seemed, found himself in need of a traveling-bag, and, fancying the merchandising possibilities of the place, stepped into a prominent shop on the main street at a late hour of the afternoon, and proceeded to satisfy his somewhat exacting personal taste. He selected a bag of alligator leather, of what seemed to him suitable dimensions and trimmings.
"This will do me, I think," said he, "about as long as I need one.
I'm going to quit the road and settle down before long."
"You better haf your name-cart put on it, anyvays," said the salesman. "It's more stylish."
But Mr. Thompson was in a hurry and could not wait for that. He was obliged to leave the city that night on train Number 4, the New Orleans Limited on the Y. V. railroad. Presently, he chuckled to himself, he would not be taking train Number 4 any more, but would be sleeping at home in his own bed, and not obliged to get up in the morning until he felt like it. His season's work was nearly over, and after that he intended to retire from the house and start up in a business of his own; all of which are very comforting reflections to one who is past fifty, and who has been "on the road" for many years.
In due time Mr. Thompson, smoking a comfortable cigar, ambled up to the gate beyond which stood Number 4 in the railway station. He tossed his alligator bag to the porter at the car step, who placed it among others on the platform of the car. Mr. Thompson then ambled into the car and sought out the smoking-compartment, heaving a sigh of content as he settled down to the enjoyment of his cigar.
The conductor of Number 4 looked at his watch, raised his hand and cried out "All aboard!" shortly and sharply. In the waiting-room of the station a negro train-caller sang out, "All abo-o-oh-d!" in a long-drawn minor, which sounded rather as warning than as invitation. The caller, as he completed his last round, sprang aside to escape the rush of a young man who ran through the gate just in time to catch the moving train. He threw his own hand-bag up on the platform for the porter's care, and also passed back into the train. This late-comer was Henry Decherd.
As Number 4 rolled out to the southward, the usual little comedy of a railway train at night-time began. An old lady asked the porter a dozen times what time the "kyars would get to N'Yawlns." Two florid gentlemen leaned together in one seat and discussed cotton, cotton, cotton. In yet another berth two young farmers were having their first experience in high life, and were eager to try the experience of actually going to sleep upon the cars while the same continued their forward progress—a thing which had seemed impossible to them. Not removing their clothing, they venturesomely pulled off their shoes, and thereafter, in some fashion, managed to squeeze together into the same berth. "Why, I'm a-layin' mighty comf'table now," exclaimed one presently, to his own evident surprise and gratification.