“Just think,” Harry answered, pointing from the car window, “what a good time they must have had laying out this road! Why, it was just a camping-out frolic, that’s all it was.”
ONE OF THE DECORATORS AT WORK.
“Didn’t you hear the waiter say dinner was ready?” said Mr. Douglass.
“No,” said Philip; “but I knew it ought to be, if they care for the feelings of their passengers. Where is the dining-car?”
“At the end of the train,” said Mr. Douglass. “Come, we’ll walk through.”
So, in single file (“like cannibals on the trail of a missionary,” Harry said), they passed from car to car. The cars were connected by vestibules—collapsible passageways, folding like an accordion—and it was not necessary to go outside at all. The train was an unbroken hallway.
“It is much like a long, narrow New York flat,” said Philip. “People who live in flats must feel perfectly at home when they travel in these cars.”
They found the dining-car very pretty and comfortable. Along one side were tables where two could sit, face to face. On the opposite side of the aisle the tables accommodated four. The boys and their tutor took one of the larger tables. The bill of fare was that of a well-appointed hotel or restaurant,—soup, fish, entrées, joint, and dessert,—and it was difficult to realize that they were eating while covering many miles an hour; in fact, the only circumstance that was a reminder of the journeying was a slight rim around the edge of the table to keep the dishes from traveling too.
