'Blest if I don't believe—'
'What?' inquired the switchman.
'That I've gone and guv them three last fellers the wrong checks! The cussed little black things was all alike, and they bothered me.'
'Telegraph,' suggested the switchman.
'Never you mind,' replied the baggageman. 'They was all going to Philadelfy. They'll find it out when they get there.'
They did.
CHAPTER II.
The scene shifts to the Continental Hotel, Philadelphia.—Front parlor, up stairs.—Occupants, the young gentleman alluded to in Chapter I., and a young lady. In accordance with the fast usages of the times, the twain had been made one in holy matrimony at 7.30 A.M.; duly kissed and congratulated till 8.15; put aboard the express train at 8.45, and deposited at the Continental, bag and baggage, by 12.58.
They were seated on the sofa, the black broadcloth coat-sleeve encircling the slender waist of the gray traveling-dress, and the jetty moustache in equally affectionate proximity to the glossy curls.