The conductor was coming, he assured me; also that there was no bag
answering the description of mine on the car. I slammed my way to
the dressing-room, washed, choked my fifteen and a half neck into a
fifteen collar, and was back again in less than five minutes. The
car, as well as its occupants, was gradually taking on a daylight
appearance. I hobbled in, for one of the shoes was abominably tight,
and found myself facing a young woman in blue with an unforgettable
face. ("Three women already." McKnight says: "That's going some,
even if you don't count the Gilmore nurse.") She stood, half-turned
toward me, one hand idly drooping, the other steadying her as she
gazed out at the flying landscape. I had an instant impression that
I had met her somewhere, under different circumstances, more cheerful
ones, I thought, for the girl's dejection now was evident. Beside
her, sitting down, a small dark woman, considerably older, was
talking in a rapid undertone. The girl nodded indifferently now and
then. I fancied, although I was not sure, that my appearance brought
a startled look into the young woman's face. I sat down and, hands
thrust deep into the other man's pockets, stared ruefully at the
other man's shoes.

The stage was set. In a moment the curtain was going up on the
first act of the play. And for a while we would all say our little
speeches and sing our little songs, and I, the villain, would hold
center stage while the gallery hissed.

The porter was standing beside lower ten. He had reached in and
was knocking valiantly. But his efforts met with no response. He
winked at me over his shoulder; then he unfastened the curtains and
bent forward. Behind him, I saw him stiffen, heard his muttered