“She’s so sort of unnatural like,” squeaked Sam. “Al’lus goin’ out before folks is up and she’s so white in face and black in—figger,” this was a long and labored speech. “’Course I ain’t supposed to critercize, but I know a case when I see one!”
“A case?” The question was defensive.
“Sure thing. She’s a case. Mind the day I fetched the wrong trunk to your room? Well, here we are. I never noticed the run. This little team can go, ’specially when a feller’s interested,” Sam chuckled without apology.
“What about the day you brought the trunks?” Gloria asked, although she had to follow Sam around the car to do so.
“Oh, yes, I was sayin’,” he took off his old beaver hat and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “You see, there was a lot of trunks a lot alike and it was some mixup. There’s a feller that’ll want to ride back. You goin’ to the city?”
“No. But don’t wait for me. I’ll have to take Dave’s car back. I expect company.” An extra dime dropped into his hand with the regular fare appeased the man’s jealousy. Dave’s car was the regular big taxi, a chariot of a fine make gone into the livery business, as a good horse eventually may go to draying.
The train was not in, neither had the signal dropped an arm to indicate its coming, so Gloria had time to get her breath and ponder upon Sam’s gossip.
“There were other trunks like mine, I know Pat’s was identical,” she considered, “and I suppose the girls pointed out to Sam which one each thought was her own. Mary might have been one of the number.”
Two young women blustered into the small station. They were Altmount pupils, Gloria recognized, but she was not acquainted with either. Taking no notice of her, they “fanfared” the ticket agent then dropped into a seat near Gloria but which was concealed from her by a high backed bench.
“Of course, mother’ll howl,” said one, “but to be perfectly honest, I’m glad to escape.”