“But I has to make up the berths,” the porter argued mildly.
“That berth down there isn’t made up,” Mr. Lurie’s eyes flashed as he pointed to the one that still had its curtains drawn.
As if startled by the turmoil, the head of an elderly woman, her hair secured in a pink net, suddenly protruded from the curtains.
“Porter,” she asked querulously, “how many times must I ring? You promised to bring my tray an hour ago.”
“I know, Ma’am, I was just fixing to bring it when this gentleman here got some trouble.”
A slow smile broke over the porter’s face. “I recollect now—everyone leaving at one time to get to the Vista Dome. I piled things everywhere. That lady down there, I couldn’t make up her berth. She was feeling poorly. When she went into the ladies’ lounge, I naturally set a lot of things in her upper berth. It was empty. Then she comes back unexpected and—”
“Instead of all this palaver,” Mr. Lurie interrupted, “will you kindly see if it is there?”
“Pardon me, Ma’am,” and with a practiced hand he reached into the upper berth and drew out the black case of the viola.
“There you are, Sir. No harm done. Never lost a thing in all my—”
“Thank Heaven!” Mr. Lurie said fervently, wiping the beads of perspiration from his face.