right; she said shore to wake her," he assured himself, as though his memory in her respect was to be questioned, "in lo'ar four."
He arose and brushed up and, proceeding to lower five, he thrust in a hand and vigorously shook a fat, flabby thigh. The voice of a traveling man, who had catalogued himself with the porter as "old Crusty," put up the expected objection.
"Heh! What's matter?"
"Time to git up, suh!"
"Where are we?"
"Near to Bark River, boss."
"Huh! Why didn't you call me sooner?"
The porter passed on, without argument, to lower nine, where his hand through the curtains grasped a lithe, firm, muscular leg. "De captain"—brevetted by the porter a full grade higher than the single silver bar on his coat claimed—had been sound asleep; but he roused to the touch as to reveillé.
A dark, well-shaped head looked out, and a pleasant, vigorous voice, with that peculiar quality of maturity which comes to a young man who has been put in places of command, said:
"Hello! Oh; I remember. Thanks."
"Yo're very welcome, captain, suh; yo've half an hour befo' Escanaba."
"Just right," the young man said; his gray eyes looked up at the porter as he spoke. The negro smiled; the young man blinked a bit, drew back into his berth and began dressing. The porter, feeling better, returned to the other end of the car where was Miss Ethel's berth, and hesitated.
Ethel Carew was the whole name of the girl hidden by the curtains of lower four. She was a young lady
