“I had no business doing that,” he pipes to his companion. “Now I know I won’t sleep a wink till broad daylight.”
The train arrives and the little men get on. The coffee-drinker has a sleeper ticket calling for Upper Eleven. The other little man holds a reservation for Upper Twelve.
The porter boosts the diminutive passengers into their respective berths and the train moves on.
Part 2
On the following morning two traveling-men meet in the washroom of the Pullman.
“Hello, old chap,” says the first, “I didn’t know you were aboard. What space did you have last night?”
“I was in Lower Eleven,” said the second man.
“How did you rest?” asks number one.
“Rotten! I guess it must have been a fancy, but I had the feeling that all night long somebody was walking up and down just over my head.”