The porter grew confidential:
"Oh, I know his kind, sah. They don't tip you for what you do do, but they're ready letter writers to the Sooperintendent for what you don't do."
"Pawtah! I say, pawtah!"
"Here, porrterr."
The porter tried to imitate the Irish bird, and be in two places at once. The American had a coin in his hand. The porter caught the gleam of it, and flitted thither. The Yankee growled:
"Don't forget that I'm on the train, and when we get to 'Frisco there may be something more."
The porter had the coin in his hand. Its heft was light. He sighed: "I hope so."
The Englishman was craning his head around owlishly to ask:
"I say, pawtah, does this train ever get wrecked?"
"Well, it hasn't yet," and he murmured to the Yankee, "but I has hopes."