to the trouble of such a tedious journey when he might have discovered
far more exciting material on any good road around New York. However,
nobody seemed to mind, such is the force of custom--and I did not mind
very much, because my particular friend, intelligently foreseeing my
absurd European prejudices, had engaged for us a state-room.

This state-room, or suite--for it comprised two apartments--was a
beautiful and aristocratic domain. The bedchamber had a fan that would
work at three speeds like an automobile, and was an enchanting toy. In
short, I could find no fault with the accommodation. It was perfect,
and would have remained perfect had the train remained in the station.
Unfortunately, the engine-driver had the unhappy idea of removing the
train from the station. He seemed to be an angry engine-driver, and his
gesture was that of a man setting his teeth and hissing: "Now, then,
come out of that, you sluggards!" and giving a ferocious tug. There was
a fearful jerk, and in an instant I understood why sleeping-berths in
America are always arranged lengthwise with the train. If they were not,
the passengers would spend most of the night in getting up off the floor
and climbing into bed again. A few hundred yards out of the station the
engine-driver decided to stop, and there was the same fearful jerk and
concussion. Throughout the night he stopped and he started at frequent
intervals, and always with the fearful jerk. Sometimes he would slow
down gently and woo me into a false tranquillity, but only to finish
with the same jerk rendered more shocking by contrast.

The bedchamber was delightful, the lavatory amounted to a boudoir, the
reading-lamp left nothing to desire, the ventilation was a continuous
vaudeville entertainment, the watch-pocket was adorable, the mattress
was good. Even the road-bed was quite respectable--not equal to the best
I knew, probably, but it had the great advantage of well-tied rails, so