But it was only the colored porter.
He was winking his eyes rapidly, fancying that in that way he looked penitent while he did not feel so. The rumor of Brassid’s infatuation had reached the porter.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the porter.
“Oh! What for, Bill?” So, suddenly had their comradeship grown to first names! “Everybody is sorry now and then. Brace up!”
The porter stared.
“The six-o’clock train, sir.”
Now Brassid stared.
“I forgot it, sir.”
“Thank you,” said Brassid, and he gave the porter a dollar for forgetting the six-o’clock train! He had forgotten it more than the porter.