"Boiled or fried?"
"Any old way." The porter ran forward to the dining-car for the ammunition.
Mrs. Temple whispered to her husband: "Too bad you're not officiating, Walter." But he cautioned silence:
"Hush! I'm on my vacation."
The train was already coming into Ogden. Noises were multiplying and from the increase of passing objects, the speed seemed to be taking on a spurt. The bell was clamoring like a wedding chime in a steeple.
Mrs. Wellington was on a chair fastening a ribbon round one of the lamps, and Mrs. Whitcomb was on another chair braiding the bell rope with withered orange branches, when Ashton, with kazoo all ready, called out:
"What tune shall we play?"
"I prefer the Mendelssohn Wedding March," said Mrs. Whitcomb, but Mrs. Wellington glared across at her.
"I've always used the Lohengrin."
"We'll play 'em both," said Dr. Temple, to make peace.