American. Come right in! [The German sulkily moves his bag. The Little Man comes in and seats himself gingerly.]
American. Where's the mother?
Little Man [ruefully]. Afraid she got left behind. [The Dutch Youth laughs. The English unconsciously emerge from their newspapers.]
American. My! That would appear to be quite a domestic incident. [The Englishman suddenly utters a profound "Ha, Ha!" and disappears behind his paper. And that paper and the one opposite are seen to shake, and little squirls and squeaks emerge.]
German. And you haf got her bundle, and her baby. Ha! [He cackles dryly.]
American [gravely]. I smile. I guess Providence has played it pretty low down on you. I judge it's acted real mean. [The Baby wails, and the Little Man jigs it with a sort of gentle desperation, looking apologetically from face to face. His wistful glance renews the fire of merriment wherever it alights. The American alone preserves a gravity which seems incapable of being broken.]
American. Maybe you'd better get off right smart and restore that baby. There's nothing can act madder than a mother.
Little Man. Poor thing; yes! What she must be suffering! [A gale of laughter shakes the carriage. The English for a moment drop their papers, the better to indulge. The Little Man smiles a wintry smile.]
American [in a lull]. How did it eventuate?
Little Man. We got there just as the train was going to start; and I jumped, thinking I could help her up. But it moved too quickly, and—and—left her. [The gale of laughter blows up again.]