"Sir," responded poppa, "if you had not done so I shouldn't have been obliged to open them."
"I can't die of pneumonia, sir," said Mr. Malt, again closing the window, "to oblige you."
"Nor do I feel compelled," returned the Senator furiously, "to asphyxiate my family to make it comfortable for you!" and the window fell with a bang.
The guard, holding out a massive hand for my ticket, took no notice whatever.
"Put it up again," said Mrs. Malt, who was more anxious than any of us to avenge herself upon the German railway system, "and try to break the glass."
"Attract his attention, Alexander," said momma. "Pull one of his silly buttons off."
The guard gave no sign—he was replacing the elastic round my book of coupons after detaching the green one on which was printed, "Strasburg nach Mainz."
Poppa and Mr. Malt were sitting opposite each other in the middle of the carriage.
"I tell you I've got bronchial trouble, and I won't be manslaughtered," cried Mr. Malt, hurling himself upon the strap, while poppa seized the guard by the arm and pointed to the closed window. The only foreign language with which poppa is acquainted is that used by the Indians on the banks of the Saguenay river, a few words of which he acquired while salmon fishing there two years ago. These he poured forth upon the guard—they were the only ones that occurred to him, he said—at the same time threatening with his disengaged fist bodily assault upon Mr. Malt.
"That ought to draw him," said Mrs. Malt.