It seems that in this day and land a man who goes from New York to
Chicago or St. Louis is generally so well paid as to make it worth
dollars to him to save hours in the journey. It is modern efficiency
showing itself in railroad-passenger travel. But the differentials,
having local territory to serve, as well as on account of some other
reasons, must maintain a sleeping-car service--even at a loss. There is
little or no loss to the Pullman Company--you may be sure of that! The
railroad pays it a mileage fee for hauling a half or three-quarter empty
car over its own line--in addition to permitting the Pullman system to
take all the revenue from the car; but Lemuel sees his end of the
business as a dead loss.

He leaves New York at two-thirty o'clock on Monday afternoon, having
reported at his car nearly three hours before so as to make sure that it
is properly stocked and cleaned for its long trip. He is due at St.
Louis at ten-fifteen on Tuesday evening--though it will be nearly two
hours later before he has checked the contents of the car and slipped
off to the bunking quarters maintained there by his company.

On Wednesday evening at seven o'clock he starts east and is due in New
York about dawn on Friday morning. He cleans up his car and himself, and
gets to his little home on the West Side of Manhattan Island sometime
before noon; but by noon on Saturday he must be back at his car, making
sure that it is fit and ready by two-thirty o'clock--the moment the
conductor's arm falls--and they are headed west again.

This time the destination is Chicago, which is not reached until about
six o'clock Sunday night. He bunks that night in the Windy City and then
spends thirty-two hours going back again to New York. He sees his home