“It is, is it? Well, where do folks sleep, I’d like to know?”
“Why, in the beds.”
“I don’t see no beds,” she replied angrily, as she looked about the car.
“Why, madam, these seats are the beds.”
“The seats are the beds? Humph, pretty beds they are! Do you expect me to lie down on ’em?”
“They are changed and made up. I’m the porter and I’ll make up your berth whenever you want it.”
“You’re the porter, be ye? Well, I thought you was one o’ the Vanderbilts, with all yer gold buttons and fine clothes. Well, ye jest make up mine now.”
“I’ll be back in a minute and fix you up all right, madam. You’re going to Philadelphia, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. I’m goin’ to Philadelphy, an’ the sooner I get there the better.”
As the porter turned away to complete his collection of tickets, Jock turned to his companions and said: “That woman has made a mistake. She says she’s going to Philadelphia, and she’s got on the wrong train, as sure’s you live. I’m going to tell her.”