He has your grips, is already slipping down the aisle toward section
five. And, after he has stowed the big one under the facing bench and
placed the smaller one by your side, he asks again:

"Shake out a pillow for you, guv'nor?"

That "guv'nor," though not a part of his official training, is a part of
his unofficial--his subtlety, if you please. Another passenger might be
the "kunnel"; still another, the "jedge." But there can be no other
guv'nor save you on this car and trip. And George, of the Pullmans, is
going to watch over you this night as a mother hen might watch over her
solitary chick. The car is well filled and he is going to have a hard
night of it; but he is going to take good care of you. He tells you so;
and, before you are off the car, you are going to have good reason to
believe it.

Before we consider the sable-skinned George of to-day, give a passing
thought to the Pullman itself. The first George of the Pullmans--George
M. Pullman--was a shrewd-headed carpenter who migrated from a western
New York village out into Illinois more than half a century ago and gave
birth to the idea of railroad luxury at half a cent a mile. There had
been sleeping cars before Pullman built the Pioneer, as he called his
maiden effort. There was a night car, equipped with rough bunks for the
comfort of passengers, on the Cumberland Valley Railroad along about
1840.

Other early railroads had made similar experiments, but they were all
makeshifts and crude. Pullman set out to build a sleeping car that would
combine a degree of comfort with a degree of luxury. The Pioneer, viewed
in the eyes of 1864, was really a luxurious car. It was as wide as the