I already was under government orders which I ought to be obeying. So I stepped forward to car No. 424 and to the door labeled E and I tapped upon it.
Felice opened it, like the alert little maid she was. As I confronted her, I tried again to place her in the Flamingo Feather; but I couldn't. She'd been one of the lighting plants, maybe.
Then I saw Cleopatra of the Flamingo Feather, Doris Wellington of Caldon's and the Blackstone and Michigan Boulevard, the daughter of Janvier, engraver of plates and herself shover of the queer. She was alone with her maid in the compartment.
"Can I come in?" I said, as she gazed up at me from her seat.
"Why, certainly; come right in," she said immediately, for all the world as though she was doing nothing there but waiting for me.
