By the time they were again settled in their places it was dark outside; and, as Philip poetically said, they seemed to be “boring a hole through a big dark.” One of the colored porters looked curiously at Philip, as if he had overheard this remark without understanding its poetical bearing.
“He thinks you are a Western desperado!” said Harry, with a grin.
“Boys,” said Mr. Douglass, “the porters will soon make up the beds, and I want you to see how ingeniously everything is arranged.”
Here is what the porter did:
He stood straddling on two seats, turned a handle in the top of a panel, and pulled down the upper berth. It moved on hinges, and was supported after the manner of a book-shelf by two chains that ran on spring pulleys.
Then he fastened two strong wire ropes from the upper to the lower berths.
“What’s that for?” asked Harry.
“To prevent passengers from being smashed flat by the shutting up of the berth,” Philip answered, after a moment’s puzzling over the question.
“You can have the upper berth, Philip,” said Harry, impressively. “It’s better ventilated than the lower, they say; but I don’t mind that.”
Meanwhile the porter took from the upper berth two pieces of mahogany, cut to almost fill the space between the tops of the seats and the side roofs of the car. The edges were grooved, and slid along upon and closely fitted the top of the seat and a molding on the roof. These side-pieces were next fastened by a brass bolt pushed up from the end of the seat-back.