MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, do you think they are, aunty? Oh, if I could only believe they were sitting down to a hot supper together now, I should be so happy! They’d be sure to get on if they were. There’s nothing like eating to make men friendly with each other. Don’t you know, at receptions, how they never have anything to say to each other till the escalloped oysters and the chicken salad appear; and then how sweet they are as soon as they’ve helped the ladies to ice? Oh, thank you, thank you, aunty, for thinking of the hot supper. It’s such a relief to my mind! You can understand, can’t you, aunty dear, how anxious I must have been to have my only brother and my only—my husband—get on nicely together? My life would be a wreck, simply a wreck, if they didn’t. And Willis and I not having seen each other since I was a child makes it all the worse. I do hope they’re sitting down to a hot supper.
AN ANGRY VOICE from the next berth but one. I wish people in sleeping-cars—
A VOICE from the berth beyond that. You’re mistaken in your premises, sir. This is a waking-car. Ladies, go on, and oblige an eager listener.
[Sensation, and smothered laughter from the other berths.]
MRS. ROBERTS (after a space of terrified silence, in a loud whisper to her AUNT.) What horrid things! But now we really must go to bed. It was too bad to keep talking. I’d no idea my voice was getting so loud. Which berth will you have, aunty? I’d better take the upper one, because—
AUNT MARY (whispering). No, no; I must take that, so that you can be with the baby below.
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, how good you are, Aunt Mary! It’s too bad; it is really. I can’t let you.
AUNT MARY. Well, then, you must; that’s all. You know how that child tosses and kicks about in the night. You never can tell where his head’s going to be in the morning, but you’ll probably find it at the foot of the bed. I couldn’t sleep an instant, my dear, if I thought that boy was in the upper berth; for I’d be sure of his tumbling out over you. Here, let me lay him down. [She lays the baby in the lower berth.] There! Now get in, Agnes—do, and leave me to my struggle with the attraction of gravitation.
MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, poor aunty, how will you ever manage it? I must help you up.
AUNT MARY. No, my dear; don’t be foolish. But you may go and call the porter, if you like. I dare say he’s used to it.