"Heah's youh seat," went on the porter, escorting Roy to a deep, soft chair. "I'll be right back yeah, an' if youh wants me, all youh has to do is push this yeah button," and he showed Roy an electric button fixed near the window.
"Well, I don't know what I'll want of you," said the boy, trying to think what excuse he could have for calling the colored man.
"Why, sah, youh might want to git breshed off, or youh might want a book, or a cigar—"
"I don't smoke," retorted Roy promptly.
"Well, I'm here to wait on passengers," went on the negro, "and if youh wants me all youh has to do is push that yeah button."
"All right—er—" he paused, not knowing what to call the porter.
"Mah name's George Washington Thomas Jefferson St. Louis Algernon Theophilus Brown, but folks dey gen'ally calls me George, sah," and the porter grinned so that he showed every one of his big white teeth.
"All right—George," said Roy, beginning to understand something of matters. "I'll call you if I want you."
"Dey calls out when it's meal time."
"What's that?"