The George Barr McCutcheon MEGAPACK ®. George Barr McCutcheon

pahdon, suh; but I kind o’ thought you was like orh’ gent’men when they see a han’some woman. Allus wants to fin’ out somethin’ ’bout huh, suh, yuh know. ’Scuse me foh misjedgin’ yuh, suh. Th’ lady in question is a foh’ner—she lives across th’ ocean, ’s fuh as I can fin’ out. They’s in a hurry to git home foh some reason, ’cause they ain’ goin’ to stop this side o’ New York, ’cept to change cahs.”

      “Where do they change cars?”

      “St. Louis—goin’ by way of Cincinnati an’ Washin’ton.”

      Grenfall’s ticket carried him by way of Chicago. He caught himself wondering if he could exchange his ticket in St. Louis.

      “Traveling with her father and mother, I suppose?”

      “No, suh; they’s huh uncle and aunt. I heah huh call ’em uncle an’ aunt. Th’ ole gent’man is Uncle Caspar. I don’ know what they talk ’bout. It’s mostly some foh’en language. Th’ young lady allus speaks Amehican to me, but th’ old folks cain’t talk it ver’ well. They all been to Frisco, an’ the hired he’p they’s got with ’em say they been to Mexico, too. Th’ young lady’s got good Amehican dollahs, don’ care wha’ she’s been. She allus smiles when she ask me to do anythin’, an’ I wouldn’ care if she nevah tipped me, ’s long as she smiles thataway.”

      “Servants with them, you say?”

      “Yas, suh; man an’ woman, nex’ section t’other side the ole folks. Cain’t say mor’n fifteen words in Amehican. Th’ woman is huh maid, an’ the man he’s th’ genial hustler fer th’ hull pahty.”

      “And you don’t know her name?”

      “No, sun, an’ I cain’t ver’ well fin’ out.”

      “In what part of Europe does she live?”

      “Australia, I think, suh.”

      “You mean Austria.”

      “Do I? ’Scuse ma ig’nance. I was jis’ guessin’ at it anyhow; one place’s as good as ’nother ovah thuh, I reckon.”

      “Have you one of those dollars she gave you?”

      “Yes, sub. Heh’s a coin that ain’ Amehican, but she says it’s wuth seventy cents in our money. It’s a foh’en piece. She tell me to keep it till I went ovah to huh country; then I could have a high time with it—that’s what she says—’a high time’—an’ smiled kind o’ knowin’ like.”

      “Let me see that coin,” said Lorry, eagerly taking the silver piece from the porter’s hand. “I never saw one like it before. Greek, it looks to me, but I can’t make a thing out of these letters. She gave it to you?”

      “Yas, suh—las’ evenin’. A high time on seventy cents! That’s reediculous, ain’t it?” demanded the porter scornfully.

      “I’ll give you a dollar for it. You can have a higher time on that.”

      The odd little coin changed owners immediately, and the new possessor dropped it into his pocket with the inward conviction that he was the silliest fool in existence. After the porter’s departure he took the coin from his pocket, and, with his back to the door, his face to the window, studied its lettering.

      During the afternoon he strolled about the train, his hand constantly jingling the coins. He passed her compartment several times, yet refrained from looking in. But he wondered if she saw him pass.

      At one little station a group of Indian bear hunters created considerable interest among the passengers. Grenfall was down at the station platform at once, looking over a great stack of game. As he left the car he met Uncle Caspar, who was hurrying toward his niece’s section. A few moments later she came down the steps, followed by the dignified old gentleman. Grenfall tingled with a strange delight as she moved quite close to his side in her desire to see. Once he glanced at her face; there was a pretty look of fear in her eyes as she surveyed the massive bears and the stark, stiff antelopes. But she laughed as she turned away with her uncle.

      Grenfall was smoking his cigarette and vigorously jingling the coins in his pocket when the train pulled out. Then he swung on the car steps and found himself at her feet. She was standing at the top, where she had lingered a moment. There was an expression of anxiety, in her eyes as he looked up into them, followed instantly by one of relief. Then she passed into the car. She had seen him swing upon the moving steps and had feared for his safety—had shown in her glorious face that she was glad he did not fall beneath the wheels. Doubtless she would have been as solicitous had he been the porter or the brakeman, he reasoned, but that she had noticed him at all pleased him.

      At Abilene he bought the Kansas City newspapers. After breakfast he found a seat in the observation car and settled himself to read. Presently some one took a seat behind him. He did not look back, but unconcernedly cast his eyes upon the broad mirror in the opposite car wall. Instantly he forgot his paper. She was sitting within five feet of him, a book in her lap, her gaze bent briefly on the flitting buildings outside. He studied the reflection furtively until she took up the book and began to read. Up to this time he had wondered why some nonsensical idiot had wasted looking-glasses on the walls of a railway coach; now he was thinking of him as a far-sighted man.

      The first page of his paper was fairly alive with fresh and important dispatches, chiefly foreign. At length, after allowing himself to become really interested in a Paris dispatch of some international consequence, he turned his eyes again to the mirror. She was leaning slightly forward, holding the open book in her lap, but reading, with straining eyes, an article in the paper he held.

      He calmly turned to the next page and looked leisurely over it. Another glance, quickly taken, showed to him a disappointed frown on the pretty face and a reluctant resumption of novel reading. A few moments later he turned back to the first page, holding the paper in such a position that she could not see, and, full of curiosity, read every line of the foreign news, wondering what had interested her.

      Under ordinary circumstances Lorry would have offered her the paper, and thought nothing more of it. With her, however, there was an air that made him hesitate. He felt strangely awkward and inexperienced beside her; precedents did not seem to count. He arose, tossed the paper over the back of the chair as if casting it aside forever, and strolled to the opposite window and looked out for a few moments, jingling his coins carelessly. The jingle of the pieces suggested something else to him. His paper still hung invitingly, upside down, as he had left it, on the chair, and the lady was poring over her novel. As he passed her he drew his right hand from his pocket and a piece of money dropped to the floor at her feet. Then began an embarrassed search for the coin—in the wrong direction, of course. He knew precisely where it had rolled, but purposely looked under the seats on the other side of the car. She drew her skirts aside and assisted in the search. Four different times he saw the little piece of money, but did not pick it up. Finally, laughing awkwardly, he began to search on her side of the car. Whereupon she rose and gave him more room. She became interested in the search and bent over to scan the dark corners with eager eyes. Their heads were very close together more than once. At last she uttered an exclamation, and her hand went to the floor in triumph. They arose together, flushed and smiling. She had the coin in her hand.

      “I have it,” she said, gaily, a delicious foreign tinge to the words.

      “I thank you—” he began, holding out his hand as if in a dream of ecstacy, but her eyes had fallen momentarily on the object of their search.

      “Oh!” she exclaimed, the prettiest surprise in the world coming into her face. It was a coin from her faraway homeland, and she was betrayed into the involuntary exclamation. Instantly, however, she regained her composure and dropped the piece into his outstretched hand, a proud flush mounting to her cheek, a look of cold reserve to her eyes. He had, hoped she would offer some comment on what she must have considered a strange coincidence, but he was disappointed. He wondered if she even heard him say:

      “I am sorry to have troubled you.”

      She