"We had so little time to catch the train," Mallory stammered. Marjorie leaped to her feet: "I'm going up in the baggage car."
"For the dog?"
"For my trunk."
And now Mallory annihilated her completely, for he gasped: "Our trunks went on the train ahead!"
Marjorie fell back for one moment, then bounded to her feet with shrill commands: "Porter! Porter! I want you to stop this train this minute!"
The porter called back from the depths of a berth: "This train don't stop till to-morrow noon."
Marjorie had strength enough for only one vain protest: "Do you mean to say that I've got to go to San Francisco in this waist—a waist that has seen a whole day in Chicago?"
The best consolation Mallory could offer was companionship in misery. He pushed forward one not too immaculate cuff. "Well, this is the only linen I have."
"Don't speak to me," snapped Marjorie, beating her heels against the floor.
"But, my darling!"