The train came up in time, and Rodney was one of half a dozen passengers who entered the cars.
He obtained a place next to a stout man dressed in a pepper and salt suit.
“Is this seat engaged?” asked Rodney.
“Yes—to you,” and his fellow passenger laughed.
Rodney laughed too, for he saw that the remark was meant to be jocose.
He put his gripsack on the floor at his feet, but held the casket in his lap. He did not like to run any risk with that.
“Are you a drummer?” asked the stout man, with a glance at the casket.
“No, sir.”
“I thought you might be, and that THAT might contain your samples.”
“No, sir. That is private property.”