“Well,” the Englishman began, seeing that an explanation was expected, “I bought this hand-bag of a Pullman porter on a limited train which left Washington for San Francisco three weeks ago. I lost me own bag with most of me toilet articles out of the window, and the porter sold me this for a sovereign. He didn’t tell me that it had anything in it.”
“Where’d the porter get it?” asked Jimmie.
“He didn’t say, don’t you know.”
“Where was the train when you bought the bag?”
“Nearing the Pacific coast.”
“I presume,” Mr. Havens suggested, “that you occupied a stateroom on that Pullman train? You never traveled in the day-coach!”
“The stateroom in my car was occupied by a sick man!” was the reply.
Jimmie bounded into the air with a loud whoop.
“Talk about dream-books!” he cried. “I’m going to get out a new edition with my name on the title page. This sick man didn’t appear during the trip, did he?” he asked of the Englishman.
“He did not!” was the reply. “And no one on board the train saw him except the man who had charge of him.”