be a second. His reasoning was sound. There was a second. Still Harold stubbornly retained his perch near the window. Then came the ominous announcement from the itinerant announcer, "Lawst call for dinner." Harold and the one remaining person in the Pullman got up with alacrity and made their way forward through the rolling train.
When he had attained the narrow passageway leading into the dining car past the efficiently compact kitchen, Harold discovered that the other last-minute diner had already secured a seat. The tables were apparently filled to capacity. Perspiring waiters were lurching in and out with trays raised perilously aloft. A multitude of mouths and arms were busy above the white napery of the tables with food and drink. The harassed head waiter spotted Harold and hurried toward him. He raised one finger. Harold finally gleaned that the gesture meant, "Have you only one in your party?" He nodded.
The head waiter looked around the car helplessly. At length he spied one vacant seat at a table set for four. On one side of the table sat an elderly, sour-faced couple. The remaining occupant was a girl—a strikingly pretty girl with dancing brown eyes and the softest, curliest brown hair you ever saw. She was about eighteen years old, slightly but
