MR. ROBERTS. He’s very violent. Suppose it shouldn’t be Willis?
MRS. ROBERTS. Nonsense! It is Willis. Come, let’s both go and just tax him with it. He can’t deny it, after all he’s done for me. [She pulls her reluctant husband toward THE CALIFORNIAN’S berth, and they each draw a curtain.] Willis!
THE CALIFORNIAN (with plaintive endurance). Well, ma’am?
MRS. ROBERTS (triumphantly). There! I knew it was you all along. How could you play such a joke on me?
THE CALIFORNIAN. I didn’t know there’d been any joke; but I suppose there must have been, if you say so. Who am I now, ma’am—your husband, or your baby, or your husband’s wife, or—
MRS. ROBERTS. How funny you are! You know you’re Willis Campbell, my only brother. Now don’t try to keep it up any longer, Willis.
[Voices from various berths. “Give us a rest, Willis!” “Joke’s too thin, Willis!” “You’re played out, Willis!” “Own up, old fellow—own up!”]
THE CALIFORNIAN (issuing from his berth, and walking up and down the aisle, as before, till quiet is restored). I haven’t got any sister, and my name ain’t Willis, and it ain’t Campbell. I’m very sorry, because I’d like to oblige you any way I could.
MRS. ROBERTS (in deep mortification). It’s I who ought to apologize, and I do most humbly. I don’t know what to say; but when I got to thinking about it, and how kind you had been to me, and how sweet you had been under all my—interruptions, I felt perfectly sure that you couldn’t be a mere stranger, and then the idea struck me that you must be my brother in disguise; and I was so certain of it that I couldn’t help just letting you know that we’d found you out, and—
MR. ROBERTS (offering a belated and feeble moral support). Yes.