travellers—why have they appropriated the name?—who, with their silk hats carefully put away in the racks, and replaced by undignified skull-caps, took out their note-books and wrote up the record of their last sales; there was the usual Irish mamma with five small children, who walked the entire length of the car and planted herself in the little corner seat next the door, with her offspring about her, budget in hand, ready to leave the train at a moment’s notice; and there were a few young women, each absorbed in her novel or magazine, whom Rob surveyed with disfavor, as not being as pretty as cousin Bess.
Leaning far forward, he was just describing some of these people for Fred’s benefit, when a sudden voice behind them made all three of the party start. It was the woman whose bonnet Rob had hit.
“I want to know what’s the matter with that ’ere boy,” she demanded in no gentle tone, as she pointed at Fred. “Can’t he see, or what on airth’s the matter with him?”
Poor Fred! His laugh died away, and, turning very white, he leaned back in his corner,
