Back in our wretched little compartment the question arose as to which of us should have the lower berth. I was quite ready to take either, but 'Argustus Strong' insisted on tossing.
'I guess I'll win,' she said as she spun the coin; 'I'm on the crest of the wave just now with a seventy-fifth edition.'
I could have throttled her as the coin came down for her declaration. She promptly took the lower berth, and I climbed up above, furious with the world in general. The authoress still bustled about among her packages, and finally pounced upon my copy of her book, which I had left below.
'I guess you'd like me to write my name in this,' she said, picking it up and opening it. It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. I forced myself to mutter some conventional word of thanks.
She produced a stylographic pen and wrote.
'There,' she said, as she handed the book up to me, 'I guess that'll make your friends just green with envy.'
Again I murmured something, and read what she had written.
'The authoress is glad to find that Nicola Fairfax is one of the millions who appreciate her book, and guesses that she and the authoress will be lifelong friends.'
An hour later, as I heard the authoress snoring violently below, I leaned down quietly and dropped that book out on to the line. It was only then that I felt it possible to sleep.
