“Do you mean to say that we’ve got to ride all day in a day coach?”
“That’s about it, Cap.”
Bret was furious. Worse yet, the train was so crowded that it was impossible for them even to have a double space. Their suit-cases had to be distributed at odd points in racks, under seats, and at the end of the car.
Bret remembered that he had forgotten to get his ticket, but the business-manager, Mr. McNish, passed by and offered his congratulations and a free transportation, with Mr. Reben’s compliments. Bret did not want to be beholden to Mr. Reben, but Sheila prevailed on him not to be ungracious.
When the conductor came along the aisle she said, “Company.”
“Both?” said the conductor, and she smiled, “Yes,” and giggled, adding to Bret, “You’re one of the troupe now.”
Bret did not seem to be flattered.
Reben came down the aisle to meet the bridegroom. He was doing his best to take his defeat gracefully. Bret could not even take his triumph so.
Other members of the company drifted forward and offered their felicitations. They made themselves at home in the coach, sitting about on the arms of seats and exchanging family jokes.
The rest of the passengers craned their necks to stare at the bridegroom, crimson with shame and anger. Bret loathed being stared at. Sheila did not like it, but she was used to it. Both writhed at the well-meant humor and the good wishes of the actors and actresses. Their effusiveness offended Bret mortally. He could have proclaimed himself the luckiest man on earth, but he objected to being called so by these actors. If he had been similarly heckled by people of any sort—college friends, club friends, doctors, lawyers, merchants—he would have resented their manner, for everybody hazes bridal couples. But since he had fallen among actors, he blamed actors for his distress.