"Yassah, but I just nachelly got to see it."
Wedgewood gathered himself together, and ransacked his many pockets with increasing anger, muttering under his breath. At length he produced the ticket, and thrust it at the porter: "Thah, you idiot, are you convinced now?"
The porter gazed at the billet with ill-concealed triumph. "Yassah. I's convinced," Mr. Wedgewood settled back and closed his eyes. "I's convinced that you is in the wrong berth!"
"Impossible! I won't believe you!" the Englishman raged, getting to his feet in a fury.
"Perhaps you'll believe Mista Ticket," the porter chortled. "He says numba ten, and that's ten across the way and down the road a piece."
"This is outrageous! I decline to move."
"You may decline, but you move just the same," the porter said, reaching out for his various bags and carryalls. "The train moves and you move with it."
Wedgewood stood fast: "You had no right to put me in here in the first place."
The porter disdained to refute this slander. He stumbled down the aisle with the bundles. "It's too bad, it's sutt'nly too bad, but you sholy must come along."
Wedgewood followed, gesticulating violently.