“Plenty.” She was stepping into the lurching vehiculum. The driver was rattling forth soothing and enticing Italian, which no one heeded.
“But I don’t know anything about trains,” he persisted.
“Neither do I.”
“We don’t want to miss our steamer.”
“Don’t we?” She was comfortably seated.
“I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Great Scott, woman——”
“Jerry,” she corrected.
“—I was lucky to make that boat at Genoa. Had to ride fourth class from Munich. I can’t afford to miss it now.”