"But what a fib it was!"
"How?"
"I haven't been in Montgomery in two weeks. I came here from an aunt's in Macon."
"And I haven't been there in six months!" His laugh was hearty and infectious. "Here comes your train; let me put you aboard." He secured her a seat; the repentant quarantine officer supplied her with a ticket, and then, shaking hands again with his father's friend, Montjoy hurried to the southwester, which was threatening to get under way. The other traveler was in and had a window open on the shady side.
There were men only in the car, and as Montjoy entered he drew off his coat and dropped it upon his bags. The motion of the starting train did not add to his comfort. The red dust poured in through the open windows, invading and irritating the lungs. He thought of the moonlit roof gardens in New York with something like a groan.
"Confound such a road!" and down went the book he was seriously trying to lose himself in. His silent companion's face was lifted toward him:
"A railroad company that will run cars like this on such a schedule ought to be abolished, the officers imprisoned, track torn up and rolling stock burned! But then," he continued, "I am the fool. I ought not to have come by this God-forsaken route."
"It is certainly not pleasant traveling to-day," his companion remarked, sympathetically, showing even, white teeth under his brown mustache. Montjoy had returned to his seat, but the smooth, even, musical tones of the other echoed in his memory. He glanced back and presently came and took a seat near by.
"Are you a resident of the south?" It was the stranger who spoke first. This delicate courtesy was not lost on Montjoy.
"Yes. That is, I count myself a citizen of this state. But I sell clothing for a New York house and am away from home a great deal."