CHAPTER XVIII
IN THE COMPOSITE CAR
It was the gentle stranger's turn to miss his guess. He bent over thechair into which Mallory had flopped, and said in a tense, low tone:"You look like a t'oroughbred sport. I'm trying to make up a game ofstud poker. Will you join me?"
Mallory shook his heavy head in refusal, and with dull eyes watchedthe man, whose profession he no longer misunderstood, saunter up tothe blissful Doctor from Ypsilanti, and murmur again:
"Will you join me?"
"Join you in what, sir?" said Dr. Temple, with alert courtesy.
"A little game."
"I don't mind," the doctor smiled, rising with amiable readiness. "Thecheckers are in the next room."
"Quit your kiddin'," the stranger coughed. "How about a littlefreeze-out?"
"Freeze-out?" said Dr. Temple. "It sounds interesting. Is it somethinglike authors?"
The newcomer shot a quick glance at this man, whose innocent air hesuspected. But he merely drawled: "Well, you play it with cards."
"Would you mind teaching me the rules?" said the old sport fromYpsilanti.
The gambler was growing suspicious of this too, too childlikeinnocence. He whined: "Say, what's your little game, eh?" but decidedto risk the venture. He sat down at a table, and Dr. Temple, bringingalong his glass, drew up a chair. The gambler took a pack of cardsfrom his pocket, and shuffled them with a snap that startled Dr.Temple and a dexterity that delighted him.
"Go on, it's beautiful to see," he exclaimed. The gambler set the packdown with the one word "Cut!" but since the old man made no effort tocomply, the gambler did not insist. He took up the pack again and ranoff five cards to each place with a grace that staggered the doctor.
Mallory was about to intervene for the protection of the guilelessphysician when the conductor chanced to saunter in.
The gambler, seeing him, snatched Dr. Temple's cards from his hand andslipped the pack into his pocket.
"What's the matter now?" Dr. Temple asked, but the newcomer huskilyanswered: "Wait a minute. Wait a minute."
The conductor took in the scene at a glance and, stalking up to thetable, spoke with the grimness of a sea-captain: "Say, I've got my eyeon you. Don't start nothin'."
The stranger stared at him wonderingly and demanded: "Why, what youdrivin' at?"
"You know all right," the conductor growled, and then turned on thebefuddled old clergyman, "and you, too."
"Me, too?" the preacher gasped.
"Yes, you, too," the conductor repeated, shaking an accusingforefinger under his nose. "Your actions have been suspicious from thebeginning. We've all been watching you."
Dr. Temple was so agitated that he nearly let fall his secret. "Why,do you realize that I'm a----"
"Ah, don't start that," sneered the conductor, "I can spot a gambleras far as I can see one. You and your side partner here want to lookout, that's all, or I'll drop you at the next tank." Then he walkedout, his very shoulder blades uttering threats.
Dr. Temple stared after him, but the gambler stared at Dr. Temple witha mingling of accusation and of homage. "So you're one of us," hesaid, and seizing the old man's limp hand, shook it heartily: "I gotto slip it to you. Your make-up is great. You nearly had me for acome-on. Great!"
And then he sauntered out, leaving the clergyman's head swimming. Dr.Temple turned to Mallory for explanations, but Mallory only waved himaway. He was not quite convinced himself. He was convinced only thatwhatever else anybody might be, nobody apparently desired to be aclergyman in these degenerate days.
The conductor returned and threw into Dr. Temple the glare of twobasilisk eyes. The old man put out a beseeching hand and began:
"My good man, you do me a grave injustice."
The conductor snapped back: "You say a word to me and I'll do youworse than that. And if I spot you with a pack of cards in your handagain, I'll tie you to the cow-ketcher."
Then he marched off again. The doctor fell back into a chair, tryingto figure it out. Then Ashton and Fosdick and little Jimmie Wellingtonand Wedgewood strolled in and, dropping into chairs, ordered drinks.Before the doctor could ask anybody to explain, Ashton was launched ona story. His mind was a suitcase full of anecdotes, mostly of thesmoking-room order.
Wherever three or four men are gathered together, they rapidlyorganize a clearing-house of off-color stories. The doctor listened inspite of himself, and in spite of himself he was amused, for storiesthat would be stupid if they were decent, take on a certain verve andthrill from their very forbiddenness.
The dear old clergyman felt that it would be priggish to take flight,but he could not make the corners of his mouth behave. Strangetwitchings of the lips and little steamy escapes of giggle-jetsdisturbed him. And when Ashton, who was a practiced raconteur,finished a drolatic adventure with the epilogue, "And the next morningthey were at Niagara Falls," the old doctor was helpless withlaughter. Some superior force, a devil no doubt, fairly shook him withglee.
"Oh, that's bully," he shrieked, "I haven't heard a story like thatfor ages."
"Why, where have you been, Dr. Temple?" asked Ashton, who could notimagine where a man could have concealed himself from such stories.But he laughed loudest of all when the doctor answered: "You see, Ilive in Ypsilanti. They don't tell me stories like that."
"They--who?" said Fosdick.
"Why, my pa--my patients," the doctor explained, and laughed so hardthat he forgot to feel guilty, laughed so hard that his wife in thenext room heard him and giggled to Mrs. Whitcomb:
"Listen to dear Walter. He hasn't laughed like that since he was a--amedical student." Then she buried her face guiltily in a book.
"Wasn't it good?" Dr. Temple demanded, wiping his streaming eyes andnudging the solemn-faced Englishman, who understood his own nation'shumor, but had not yet learned the Yankee quirks.
Wedgewood made a hollow effort at laughter and answered:"Extremely--very droll, but what I don't quite get was--why theporter said----" The others drowned him in a roar of laughter, butAshton was angry. "Why, you blamed fool, that's where the joke camein. Don't you see, the bridegroom said to the bride----" then helowered his voice and diagrammed the story on his fingers.
Mrs. Temple was still shaking with sympathetic laughter, neverdreaming what her husband was laughing at. She turned to Mrs.Whitcomb, but Mrs. Whitcomb was still glaring at Mrs. Wellington, whowas still writing with flying fingers and underscoring every otherword.
"Some people seem to think they own the train," Mrs. Whitcomb raged."That creature has been at the writing desk an hour. The worst of itis, I'm sure she's writing to _my_ husband."
Mrs. Temple looked shocked, but another peal of laughter came throughthe partition between the male and female sections of the car, and shebeamed again. Then Mrs. Wellington finished her letter, glanced itover, addressed an envelope, sealed and stamped it with a deliberationthat maddened Mrs. Whitcomb. When at last she rose, Mrs. Whitcomb wasin the seat almost before Mrs. Wellington was out of it.
Mrs. Wellington paused at another wave of laughter from the men'sroom. She commented petulantly:
"What good times men have. They've formed a club in there already. Wewomen can only sit around and hate each other."
"Why, I don't hate anybody, do you?" Mrs. Temple exclaimed, looking upfrom the novel she had found on the book shelves. Mrs. Wellingtondropped into the next chair:
"On a long railroad journey I hate everybody. Don't you hate longjourneys?"
"It's the first I ever took," Mrs. Temple apologized, radiantly, "AndI'm having the--what my oldest boy would call the time of my life. Anddear Walter--such goings on for him! A few minutes ago I strolled bythe door and I saw him playing cards with a stranger, and smoking anddrinking, too, all at once."
"Boys will be boys," said Mrs. Wellington.
"But for Dr. Temple of all people----"
"Why shouldn't a doctor? It's a shame the way men have everything.Think of it, a special smoking room. And women have no place to take
apuff except on the sly."
Mrs. Temple stared at her in awe: "The woman in this booksmokes!--perfumed things!"
"All women smoke nowadays," said Mrs. Wellington, carelessly. "Don'tyou?"
The politest thing Mrs. Temple could think of in answer was: "Notyet."
"Really!" said Mrs. Wellington, "Don't you like tobacco?"
"I never tried it."
"It's time you did. I smoke cigars myself."
Mrs. Temple almost collapsed at this double shock: "Ci--cigars?"
"Yes; cigarettes are too strong for me; will you try one of my pets?"
Mrs. Temple was about to express her repugnance at the thought, butMrs. Wellington thrust before her a portfolio in which nestled suchdainty shapes of such a warm and winsome brown, that Mrs. Templepaused to stare, and, like Mother Eve, found the fruit of knowledgetoo interesting once seen to reject with scorn. She hung over thecigar case in hesitant excitement one moment too long. Then she saidin a trembling voice: "I--I should like to try once--just to see whatit's like. But there's no place."
Mrs. Wellington felt that she had already made a proselyte to her ownbeloved vice, and she rushed her victim to the precipice: "There's theobservation platform, my dear. Come on out."
Mrs. Temple was shivering with dismay at the dreadful deed: "Whatwould they say in Ypsilanti?"
"What do you care? Be a sport. Your husband smokes. If it's right forhim, why not for you?"
Mrs. Temple set her teeth and crossed the Rubicon with a resolute "Iwill!"
Mrs. Wellington led the timid neophyte along the wavering floor ofthe car and flung back the door of the observation car. She found IraLathrop holding Anne Gattle's hand and evidently explaining somethingof great importance, for their heads were close together. They roseand with abashed faces and confused mumblings of half swallowedexplanations, left the platform to Mrs. Wellington and her new pupil.
Shortly afterward Little Jimmie Wellington grew restive and set outfor a brief constitutional and a breath of air. He carried a siphon towhich he had become greatly attached, and made heavy going of theobservation room, but reached the door in fairly good order. He swungit open and brought in with it the pale and wavering ghost of Mrs.Temple, who had been leaning against it for much-needed support.Wellington was stupefied to observe smoke pouring round Mrs. Temple'sform, and he resolved to perform a great life-saving feat. He decidedthat the poor little woman was on fire and he poised the siphon like afire extinguisher, with the noble intention of putting her out.
He pressed the handle, and a stream of vichy shot from the nozzle.
Fortunately, his aim was so very wobbly that none of the extinguishertouched Mrs. Temple.
Wellington was about to play the siphon at her again when he saw hertake from her lips a toy cigar and emit a stream of cough-shakensmoke. The poor little experimentalist was too wretched to noticeeven so large a menace as Wellington. She threw the cigar away andgasped:
"I think I've had enough."
From the platform came a voice very well known to Little Jimmie. Itsaid: "You'll like the second one better."
Mrs. Temple shuddered at the thought, but Wellington drew himself upmajestically and called out:
"Like second one better, eh? I suppozhe it's the same way withhusbandsh."
Then he stalked back to the smoking room, feeling that he hadannihilated his wife, but knowing from experience that she always hada come-back. He knew it would be good, but he was afraid to hear it.He rolled into the smoking room, and sprawling across Doctor Temple'sshoulders, dragged him from the midst of a highly improper story withalarming news.
"Doc., your wife looks kind o' seedy. Better go to her at once."
Dr. Temple leaped to his feet and ran to his wife's aid. He found hera dismal, ashen sight.
"Sally! What on earth ails you?"
"Been smok-oking," she hiccoughed.
The world seemed to be crashing round Dr. Temple's head. He could onlygurgle, "Sally!"
Mrs. Temple drew herself up with weak defiance: "Well, I saw youplaying cards and drinking."
In the presence of such innocent deviltry he could only smile: "Aren'twe having an exciting vacation? But to think of you smoking!--and acigar!"
She tossed her head in pride. "And it didn't make me sick--much." Sheclutched a chair. He tried to support her. He could not helppondering: "What would they say in Yp-hip-silanti?"
"Who cares?" she laughed. "I--I wish the old train wouldn't rock so."
"I--I've smoked too much, too," said Dr. Temple with perfect truth,but Mrs. Temple, remembering that long glass she had seen, narrowedher eyes at him: "Are you sure it was the smoke?"
"Sally!" he cried, in abject horror at her implied suspicion.
Then she turned a pale green. "Oh, I feel such a qualm."
"In your conscience, Sally?"
"No, not in my conscience. I think I'll go back to my berth and liedown."
"Let me help you, Mother."
And Darby and Joan hurried along the corridor, crowding it as theywere crowding their vacation with belated experience.
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