He laughed loudly as they walked to the cars, and Elvira asked why he laughed.
“I declare, Mercedes, you must have fascinated those two fellows more than is good for them—for there they are as large as life.”
“Who, George?” Elvira asked.
“Why, who should it be but Selden and Bob Gunther.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Mercedes. “Please George get a compartment where we can be by ourselves,” implored she.
“I will; you shall have it if money or influence or anything short of murder can get it,” said he, helping them up the car steps. “But in the meantime I am going to locate you here, while I go to interview the conductor and porter. This is the last car—you will be here unobserved. Those fellows did not see us get in.” So saying, George went off, laughing heartily.
Neither conductor nor porter were to be found in the next car, or the next to that, and George made his way through them as quickly as their jolting and swinging permitted.
At the further end of the fourth car he spied a porter talking with two foreign-looking gentlemen, who were none other than Messrs. Gunther and Selden. Their backs were turned toward him, so he had time to approach them unobserved, near enough to hear Selden say, in his anglicised accents:
“But my good fellah, we were told positively that travelers going from the Yosemite east must get on the train here.”
“And so they do,” George said, laying his hand on Selden's shoulder.