"Castaways ought to find treasure buried on their island to make it
really interesting," she told her chum. "Think of poor Robinson Crusoe
and his man Friday. Wouldn't they have been just tickled to death to have
found anything like this for their Sunday dinner, say?"

"I don't believe Friday would have cared much about railroad lunch apple
pies," said Nan. "One's palate has to become accustomed to such
delicacies."

"Now, don't be critical, Nan Sherwood, or I sha'n't give you any more
pie," cried Bess. "B-r-r-r! isn't it cold in here?"

"We really ought to speak to the janitor about it," said Nan, demurely.
"He isn't giving us enough steam. I shall move into another apartment
before next winter if they can't heat this one any better."

They whiled away the morning in conversation and reading. They had to
sit with their furs on. Nan looked like a little Esquimaux in hers, for
her Uncle Henry Sherwood had bought them for her to wear in the Big
Woods the winter before. Finally Bess declared she was too fidgety to
sit still any longer.

"I've just got to do something. Here's the conductor again. Let's stir
him up about the heat."

"I wouldn't," said more thoughtful Nan. "He looks as though he had his
own troubles."

"I don't care! We can't sit here and freeze to death. Say, Mr. Conductor,
can't we have any more heat? We're really almost frozen."