“When we’re ready to retire,” Mrs. Lurie said, “the porter will come and make up our beds. You’re taking the upper berth. Father and I will share the lower one.”
It was seven-thirty before they could get seats in the dining car. They stood with a long queue of people in the narrow corridor of the swaying train. Everyone was friendly and freely gave advice. “Be sure to get up early tomorrow morning so that you can get seats in the Vista Dome—”
At last the Luries were ushered to their seats by an impressive-looking steward. Mr. Lurie was studying the menu card.
“Outrageous!”
“What is?” Judy asked, turning her gaze from the jiggling silver on the table.
“The prices! One has the choice of starving or becoming bankrupt!”
“John,” her mother said quietly, “everyone can hear you. Besides, the railroad can’t help charging so much. I read an article that showed they actually lose money on the dining cars—the cost of food, the waste. They threaten to discontinue them altogether.”
“Well then, let’s eat and be merry,” he replied, his high spirits returning.
By the time they returned to their car, their beds were made up for the night. Using the ladder, Judy climbed into her berth. The curtains were fastened.
“Mother,” Judy called, sticking her head through a tiny opening, “it’s pitch black. I can’t seem to locate the light.”