This is a pariah cyar. The cyar you-all want is up front, four cyars ahead. Now get out of hyar lively."
"But I can't get out while the train's going," protested Bob. "I might get hurt, and—and besides, I want to go to Chicago, and if I get off I'll lose my train."
And in Bob's voice, as he pictured himself in his mind left beside the railroad tracks in a strange place and at night, there was a plaintive appeal.
"You don't have to git off ther train," snarled the porter. "All you gotta do is to walk right fru ther other cyars, three of 'em, mind you, and you'll find your chair cyar. The idea of you-all getting into a pariah cyar with a chair-cyar ticket."
Reassured by the information that it would be unnecessary for him to leave the train in order to reach the proper car. Bob rose from the soft and luxurious seat slowly.
"Come, hurry," growled the porter, making a move as though to seize Bob by the arm and drag him from the car.
But before he could do so, the stern voice of an elderly and well-dressed man, who was occupying the second seat ahead, exclaimed:
"Porter, can't you see this boy is unaccustomed
