But, it seemed, the parlor car seats were all sold.
"All the way through. Convention going to-day on your train," announced the man behind the brass-barred window. "Sorry, but you'll have to go in the day coach."
"You and I don't mind, Sunny," said Mr. Horton, as they walked over to the south entrance to wait for Mrs. Horton. "It is rather hard on Mother, but perhaps she won't mind. It isn't so warm to-day."
"And we can put the window up," suggested Sunny Boy helpfully. "Oh, there's Mother!"
He ran to meet her and brought her over triumphantly to the seat saved for her.
"Am I in time?" she asked a little anxiously. "Ten minutes yet? That's fine. There was a block on the cars."
"Get your breath, and then I think we'd better go through the gate," counseled Mr. Horton. "Couldn't get parlor car seats, so the earlier we get on, the better chance we have of getting a good seat. I'll take the grips, Sunny, you take care of Mother."
Sunny Boy felt that he was an experienced traveler when he handed the tickets to the man at the gate, Daddy's hands being occupied with the suitcases. The long gray train shed was filled with shining dark cars and snorting, puffing engines, but Daddy seemed to know where to go, and he led the way.
"This is all right," he decided, coming to a stop before a coach.
He put down the heavy suitcases and took the tickets from Sunny.