"Now, that's where you have got something on me. Say, we're like a couple of sardines trying to make love in a tin can."
"It's cosy though," she said, and then vanished through the curtains and shyly ran the gauntlet of amused glances and over-cordial "Good mornings" till she hid her blushes behind the door of the women's room and turned the key. If she had thought of it she would have said, "God bless the man that invented doors—and the other angel that invented locks."
The passengers this morning were all a little brisker than usual. It was the last day aboard for everybody and they showed a certain extra animation, like the inmates of an ocean liner when land has been sighted.
Ashton was shaving when Ira swaggered into the men's room. Without pausing to note whom he was addressing, Ashton sang out:
"Good morning. Did you rest well?"
"What!" Ira roared.
"Oh, excuse me!" said Ashton, hastily, devoting himself to a gash his safety razor had made in his cheek—even in that cheek of his.
Ira scrubbed out the basin, filled it and tried to dive into it, slapping the cold water in double handfuls over his glowing face and puffing through it like a porpoise.
Meanwhile the heavy-eyed Fosdick was slinking through the dining-car, regarded with amazement by Dr. Temple and his wife, who were already up and breakfasting.
"What's the matter with the bridal couples on this train, anyway?" said Dr. Temple.