Little Jimmie almost perished with apoplexy: "You, you?" he mumbled. "Why, of course not. You're not the only bridegroom on the train."
Mallory tossed him the towel again: "You meant Mr. Lathrop then?"
"Me! Not much!" roared the indignant Lathrop.
Mallory returned to Wellington with a fiercer: "Whom, then?"
He was in a dangerous mood, and Ashton came to the rescue: "Oh, don't mind Wellington. He's not sober yet."
This inspired suggestion came like a life-buoy to the hard-pressed Wellington. He seized it and spoke thickly: "Don't mind me—I'm not shober yet."
"Well, it's a good thing you're not," was Mallory's final growl as he began his own toilet.
The porter's bell began to ring furiously, with a touch they had already come to recognize as the Englishman's. The porter had learned to recognize it, too, and he always took double the necessary time to answer it. He was sauntering down the aisle at his most leisurely gait when Wedgewood's rumpled mane shot out from the curtains like a lion's from a jungle, and he bellowed: "Pawtah! Pawtah!"
"Still on the train," said the porter.
"You may give me my portmanteau."