back to me, to offer assistance and to chuckle at my discomfiture. He stood by, outwardly decorous, but with little irritating grins of amusement around his mouth, when I finally emerged with the red tie in my hand.
"Bet the owner of those clothes didn't become them any more than you do," he said, as he plied the ubiquitous whisk broom..
"When I get the owner of these clothes," I retorted grimly, "he will need a shroud. Where's the conductor?"
The conductor was coming, he assured me; also that there was no bag answering the description of mine on the car. I slammed my way to the dressing-room, washed, choked my fifteen and a half neck into a fifteen collar, and was back again in less than five minutes. The car, as well as its occupants, was gradually taking on a daylight appearance. I hobbled in, for one of the shoes was abominably tight, and found myself facing a young woman in blue with an unforgetable face. ("Three women already." McKnight says: "That's going some, even if you don't count the Gilmore nurse.")
