At Worcester, where the train has made the usual stop, THE PORTER, with his lantern on his arm, enters the car, preceding a gentleman somewhat anxiously smiling; his nervous speech contrasts painfully with the business-like impassiveness of THE PORTER, who refuses, with an air of incredulity, to enter into the confidences which the gentleman seems reluctant to bestow.

MR. EDWARD ROBERTS. This is the Governor Marcy, isn’t it?

THE PORTER. Yes, sah.

MR. ROBERTS. Came on from Albany, and not from New York?

THE PORTER. Yes, sah, it did.

MR. ROBERTS. Ah! it must be all right. I—

THE PORTER. Was your wife expecting you to come on board here?

MR. ROBERTS. Well, no, not exactly. She was expecting me to meet her at Boston. But I—[struggling to give the situation dignity, but failing, and throwing himself, with self-convicted silliness, upon THE PORTER’S mercy.] The fact is, I thought I would surprise her by joining her here.

THE PORTER (refusing to have any mercy). Oh! How did you expect to find her?

MR. ROBERTS. Well—well—I don’t know. I didn’t consider. [He looks down the aisle in despair at the close-drawn curtains of the berths, and up at the dangling hats and bags and bonnets, and down at the chaos of boots of both sexes on the floor.] I don’t know how I expected to find her.

[MR. ROBERTS’S countenance falls, and he visibly sinks so low in his own esteem and an imaginary public opinion that THE PORTER begins to have a little compassion.]

THE PORTER. Dey’s so many ladies on board I couldn’t find her.

MR. ROBERTS. Oh, no, no, of course not. I didn’t expect that.

THE PORTER. Don’t like to go routing ’em all up, you know. I wouldn’t be allowed to.

MR. ROBERTS. I don’t ask it; that would be preposterous.

THE PORTER. What sort of looking lady was she?

MR. ROBERTS. Well, I don’t know, really. Not very tall, rather slight, blue eyes. I—I don’t know what you’d call her nose. And—stop! Oh yes, she had a child with her, a little boy. Yes!

THE PORTER (thoughtfully looking down the aisle). Dey was three ladies had children. I didn’t notice whether dey was boys or girls, or what dey was. Didn’t have anybody with her?

MR. ROBERTS. No, no. Only the child.

THE PORTER. Well, I don’t know what you are going to do, sah. It won’t be a great while now till morning, you know. Here comes the conductor. Maybe he’ll know what to do.

[MR. ROBERTS makes some futile, inarticulate attempts to prevent The PORTER from laying the case before THE CONDUCTOR, and then stands guiltily smiling, overwhelmed with the hopeless absurdity of his position.]

THE CONDUCTOR (entering the car, and stopping before THE PORTER, and looking at MR. ROBERTS). Gentleman want a berth?

THE PORTER (grinning). Well, no, sah. He’s lookin’ for his wife.

THE CONDUCTOR (with suspicion). Is she aboard this car?

MR. ROBERTS (striving to propitiate THE CONDUCTOR by a dastardly amiability). Oh, yes, yes. There’s no mistake about the car—the Governor Marcy. She telegraphed the name just before you left Albany, so that I could find her at Boston in the morning. Ah!

THE CONDUCTOR. At Boston. [Sternly.] Then what are you trying to find her at Worcester in the middle of the night for?

MR. ROBERTS. Why—I—that is—

THE PORTER (taking compassion on MR. ROBERTS’S inability to continue). Says he wanted to surprise her.

MR. ROBERTS. Ha—yes, exactly. A little caprice, you know.

THE CONDUCTOR. Well, that may all be so. [MR. ROBERTS continues to smile in agonized helplessness against THE CONDUCTOR’S injurious tone, which becomes more and more offensively patronizing.] But I can’t do anything for you. Here are all these people asleep in their berths, and I can’t go round waking them up because you want to surprise your wife.

MR. ROBERTS. No, no; of course not. I never thought—

THE CONDUCTOR. My advice to you is to have a berth made up, and go to bed till we get to Boston, and surprise your wife by telling her what you tried to do.

MR. ROBERTS (unable to resent the patronage of this suggestion). Well, I don’t know but I will.

THE CONDUCTOR (going out). The porter will make up the berth for you.

MR. ROBERTS (to THE PORTER, who is about to pull down the upper berth over a vacant seat). Ah! Er—I—I don’t think I’ll trouble you to make it up; it’s so near morning now. Just bring me a pillow, and I’ll try to get a nap without lying down.

[He takes the vacant seat.]

THE PORTER. All right, sah.

[He goes to the end of the car and returns with a pillow.]

MR. ROBERTS. Ah—porter!

THE PORTER. Yes, sah.

MR. ROBERTS. Of course you didn’t notice; but you don’t think you did notice who was in that berth yonder?

[He indicates a certain berth.]

THE PORTER. Dat’s a gen’leman in dat berth, I think, sah.

MR. ROBERTS (astutely). There’s a bonnet hanging from the hook at the top. I’m not sure, but it looks like my wife’s bonnet.

THE PORTER (evidently shaken by this reasoning, but recovering his firmness). Yes, sah. But you can’t depend upon de ladies to hang deir bonnets on de right hook. Jes’ likely as not dat lady’s took de hook at de foot of her berth instead o’ de head. Sometimes dey takes both.

MR. ROBERTS. Ah! [After a pause.] Porter!

THE PORTER. Yes, sah.

MR. ROBERTS. You wouldn’t feel justified in looking?

THE PORTER. I couldn’t, sah; I couldn’t, indeed.

MR. ROBERTS (reaching his left hand toward THE PORTER’S, and pressing a half dollar into his instantly responsive palm). But there’s nothing to prevent my looking if I feel perfectly sure of the bonnet?

THE PORTER. N-no, sah.

MR. ROBERTS. All right.

[THE PORTER retires to the end of the car, and resumes the work of polishing the passengers’ boots. After an interval of quiet, MR. ROBERTS rises, and, looking about him with what he feels to be melodramatic stealth, approaches the suspected berth. He unloops the curtain with a trembling hand, and peers ineffectually in; he advances his head further and further into the darkened recess, and then suddenly dodges back again, with THE CALIFORNIAN hanging to his neckcloth with one hand.]

THE CALIFORNIAN (savagely). What do you want?

MR. ROBERTS (struggling and breathless). I—I—I want my wife.

THE CALIFORNIAN. Want your wife! Have I got your wife?

MR. ROBERTS. No—ah—that is—ah, excuse me—I thought you were my wife.

THE CALIFORNIAN (getting out of the berth, but at the same time keeping hold of MR. ROBERTS). Thought I was your wife! Do I look like your wife? You can’t play that on me, old man. Porter! conductor!

MR. ROBERTS (agonized). Oh, I beseech you, my dear sir, don’t—don’t! I can explain it—I can indeed. I know it has an ugly look; but if you will allow me two words—only two words—

MRS. ROBERTS (suddenly parting the curtain of her berth, and springing out into the aisle, with her hair wildly dishevelled). Edward!

MR. ROBERTS. Oh, Agnes, explain to this gentleman! [Imploringly.] Don’t you know me?

A VOICE. Make him show you the strawberry mark on his left arm.

MRS. ROBERTS. Edward! Edward! [THE CALIFORNIAN mechanically looses his grip, and they fly into each other’s embrace.] Where did you come from?

A VOICE. Centre door, left hand, one back.

THE CONDUCTOR (returning with his lantern). Hallo! What’s the matter here?

A VOICE. Train robbers! Throw up your hands! Tell the express-messenger to bring his safe.

[The passengers emerge from their berths in various deshabille and bewilderment.]

THE CONDUCTOR (to MR. ROBERTS). Have you been making all this row, waking up my passengers?

THE CALIFORNIAN. No, sir, he hasn’t. I’ve been making this row. This gentleman was peaceably looking for his wife, and I misunderstood him. You want to say anything to me?

THE CONDUCTOR (silently taking THE CALIFORNIAN’S measure with his eye, as he stands six fret in his stockings). If I did, I’d get the biggest brakeman I could find to do it for me. I’ve got nothing to say except that I think you’d better all go back to bed again.

[He goes out, and the passengers disappear one by one, leaving the ROBERTSES and THE CALIFORNIAN alone.]

THE CALIFORNIAN (to MR. ROBERTS). Stranger, I’m sorry I got you into this scrape.

MR. ROBERTS. Oh, don’t speak of it, my dear sir. I’m sure we owe you all sorts of apologies, which I shall be most happy to offer you at my house in Boston, with every needful explanation. [He takes out his card, and gives it to THE CALIFORNIAN, who looks at it, and then looks at MR. ROBERTS curiously.] There’s my address, and I’m sure we shall both be glad to have you call.

MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, yes indeed. [THE CALIFORNIAN parts the curtains of his berth to re-enter it.] Good-night, sir, and I assure you we shall do nothing more to disturb you—shall we, Edward?

MR. ROBERTS. No. And now, dear, I think you’d better go back to your berth.

MRS. ROBERTS. I couldn’t sleep, and I shall not go back. Is this your place? I will just rest my head on your shoulder; and we must both be perfectly quiet. You’ve no idea what a nuisance I have been making of myself. The whole car was perfectly furious at me one time, I kept talking so loud. I don’t know how I came to do it, but I suppose it was thinking about you and Willis meeting without knowing each other made me nervous, and I couldn’t be still. I woke everybody up with my talking, and some of them were quite outrageous in their remarks; but I didn’t blame them the least bit, for I should have been just as bad. That California gentleman was perfectly splendid, though. I can tell you he made them stop. We struck up quite a friendship. I told him I had a brother coming on from California, and he’s going to try to think whether he knows Willis. [Groans and inarticulate protests make themselves heard from different berths.] I declare, I’ve got to talking again! There, now, I shall stop, and they won’t hear another squeak from me the rest of the night. [She lifts her head from her husband’s shoulder.] I wonder if baby will roll out. He does kick so! And I just sprang up and left him when I heard your voice, without putting anything to keep him in. I must go and have a look at him, or I never can settle down. No, no, don’t you go, Edward; you’ll be prying into all the wrong berths in the car, you poor thing! You stay here, and I’ll be back in half a second. I wonder which is my berth. Ah! that’s it; I know the one now. [She makes a sudden dash at a berth, and pulling open the curtains is confronted by the bearded visage of THE CALIFORNIAN.] Ah! Ow! ow! Edward! Ah! I—I beg your pardon, sir; excuse me; I didn’t know it was you. I came for my baby.

THE CALIFORNIAN (solemnly). I haven’t got any baby, ma’am.

MRS. ROBERTS. No—no—I thought you were my baby.

THE CALIFORNIAN. Perhaps I am, ma’am; I’ve lost so much sleep I could cry, anyway. Do I look like your baby?

MRS. ROBERTS. No, no, you don’t. [In distress that overcomes her mortification.] Oh, where is my baby? I left him all uncovered, and he’ll take his death of cold, even if he doesn’t roll out. Oh, Edward, Edward, help me to find baby!

MR. ROBERTS (bustling aimlessly about). Yes, yes; certainly, my dear. But don’t be alarmed; we shall find him.

THE CALIFORNIAN (getting out in his stocking feet). We shall find him, ma’am, if we have to search every berth in this car. Don’t you take on. That baby’s going to be found if he’s aboard the train, now, you bet! [He looks about and then tears open the curtains of a berth at random.] That your baby, ma’am?

MRS. ROBERTS (flying upon the infant thus exposed). Oh, baby, baby, baby!! I thought I had lost you. Um! um! um!

[She clasps him in her arms, and covers his face and neck with kisses.]

THE CALIFORNIAN (as he gets back into his berth, sotto voce). I wish I had been her baby.

MRS. ROBERTS (returning with her husband to his seat, and bringing the baby with her). There! Did you ever see such a sleeper, Edward? [In her ecstasy she abandons all control of her voice, and joyfully exclaims.] He has slept all through this excitement, without a wink.

A solemn Voice from one of the berths. I envy him.

[A laugh follows, in which all the passengers join.]

MRS. ROBERTS (in a hoarse whisper, breaking a little with laughter). Oh, my goodness! there I went again. But how funny! I assure you, Edward, that if their remarks had not been about me, I could have really quite enjoyed some of them. I wish there had been somebody here to take them down. And I hope I shall see some of the speakers in the morning before—Edward, I’ve got an idea!

MR. ROBERTS (endeavoring to teach his wife by example to lower her voice, which has risen again). What—what is it, my dear?

MRS. ROBERTS. Why, don’t you see? How perfectly ridiculous it was of me not to think of it before! though I did think of it once, and hadn’t the courage to insist upon it. But of course it is; and it accounts for his being so polite and kind to me through all, and it’s the only thing that can. Yes, yes, it must be.

MR. ROBERTS (mystified). What?

MRS. ROBERTS. Willis.

MR. ROBERTS. Who?

MRS. ROBERTS. This Californian.

MR. ROBERTS. Oh!

MRS. ROBERTS. No stranger could have been so patient and—and—attentive; and I know that he recognized me from the first, and he’s just kept it up for a joke, so as to surprise us and have a good laugh at us when we get to Boston. Of course it’s Willis.

MR. ROBERTS (doubtfully). Do you think so, my dear?

MRS. ROBERTS. I know it. Didn’t you notice how he looked at your card? And I want you to go at once and speak to him, and turn the tables on him.

MR. ROBERTS. I—I’d rather not, my dear.

MRS. ROBERTS. Why, Edward, what can you mean?

MR. ROBERTS. He’s very violent. Suppose it shouldn’t be Willis?

MRS. ROBERTS. Nonsense! It is Willis. Come, let’s both go and just tax him with it. He can’t deny it, after all he’s done for me. [She pulls her reluctant husband toward THE CALIFORNIAN’S berth, and they each draw a curtain.] Willis!

THE CALIFORNIAN (with plaintive endurance). Well, ma’am?

MRS. ROBERTS (triumphantly). There! I knew it was you all along. How could you play such a joke on me?

THE CALIFORNIAN. I didn’t know there’d been any joke; but I suppose there must have been, if you say so. Who am I now, ma’am—your husband, or your baby, or your husband’s wife, or—

MRS. ROBERTS. How funny you are! You know you’re Willis Campbell, my only brother. Now don’t try to keep it up any longer, Willis.

[Voices from various berths. “Give us a rest, Willis!” “Joke’s too thin, Willis!” “You’re played out, Willis!” “Own up, old fellow—own up!”]

THE CALIFORNIAN (issuing from his berth, and walking up and down the aisle, as before, till quiet is restored). I haven’t got any sister, and my name ain’t Willis, and it ain’t Campbell. I’m very sorry, because I’d like to oblige you any way I could.

MRS. ROBERTS (in deep mortification). It’s I who ought to apologize, and I do most humbly. I don’t know what to say; but when I got to thinking about it, and how kind you had been to me, and how sweet you had been under all my—interruptions, I felt perfectly sure that you couldn’t be a mere stranger, and then the idea struck me that you must be my brother in disguise; and I was so certain of it that I couldn’t help just letting you know that we’d found you out, and—

MR. ROBERTS (offering a belated and feeble moral support). Yes.

MRS. ROBERTS (promptly turning upon him). And you ought to have kept me from making such a simpleton of myself, Edward.

THE CALIFORNIAN (soothingly). Well, ma’am, that ain’t always so easy. A man may mean well, and yet not be able to carry out his intentions. But it’s all right. And I reckon we’d better try to quiet down again, and get what rest we can.

MRS. ROBERTS. Why, yes, certainly; and I will try—oh, I will try not to disturb you again. And if there’s anything we can do in reparation after we reach Boston, we shall be so glad to do it!

[They bow themselves away, and return to their seat, while THE CALIFORNIAN re-enters his berth.]