We left New York Saturday night by the Pennsylvania road. After breakfast the next morning we went into the parlour-car, but found it a dull place and dreary. There were but few people in it and nothing going on. Then we went into the little smoking compartment of the same car and found three gentlemen in there. Two of them were grumbling over one of the rules of the road—a rule which forbade card-playing on the trains on Sunday. They had started an innocent game of high-low-jack and had been stopped. The Major was interested. He said to the third gentleman:
‘Did you object to the game?’
‘Not at all. I am a Yale professor and a religious man, but my prejudices are not extensive.’
Then the Major said to the others:
‘You are at perfect liberty to resume your game, gentlemen; no one here objects.’
One of them declined the risk, but the other one said he would like to begin again if the Major would join him. So they spread an overcoat over their knees and the game proceeded. Pretty soon the parlour-car conductor arrived, and said, brusquely:
‘There, there, gentlemen, that won’t do. Put up the cards—it’s not allowed.’
The Major was shuffling. He continued to shuffle, and said:
‘By whose order is it forbidden?’
‘It’s my order. I forbid it.’