"Yas, suh," returned the porter sadly. "It's too bad, suh, an' I've tried my bes' to stop 'em twice, suh."
"Well, by George!" said I, sitting up. "If they won't stop for you, maybe they will for me. If any man aboard this car thinks he can get away with a nuisance like this—"
"Yas, suh," said the porter; "but that's jest whar de trouble comes in, suh. I been after 'em, suh; but it ain't no use. In bofe cases, suh, it was de ladies deirsefs dat was a-doin' all de smokin', suh."
And he grinned so broadly as I threw myself back on my pillow that when I finally got to sleep again I dreamed of the opening to the Mammoth Cave, through a natural association of ideas.
"I have been after 'em, suh; but it ain't no use."
Occasionally one finds some trouble in keeping ahead of the Pullman porter in the matter of repartee. There used to be on the night run to Boston a venerable chap, black as the ace of spades, but patriarchal in his dignity, of whom I was very fond. He was as wide awake at all hours of the day and night as though sleep had not been invented. Like most of his class, he was inclined to bestow titles on his charges.
"Yo' got enough pillows, Cap'n?" he asked on one occasion, after he had fixed my berth.
"Yes, Major," I replied, putting him up a peg higher. "But it's a cold night, and I think another blanket might come in handy."
"All right, Cunnel," said he, adding to my honors. "I'll git hit right away."