pride. Its possession meant the beginning of his long-cherished dream,
and he started to study it, when the voice of the officer warned him:

"Come this way, kid. Go through gate No. 3. You can read your ticket
when you get on the train; you'll have time enough before you reach
Chicago. Good luck on your ranch," he added in a kindly banter.

But Bob had no time to reply, for the trainmen were already shouting
their "All aboard for Chicago," and it was only by running down the
platform that he was able to get on a car just as the wheels began to
move.

The car in which Bob found himself was upholstered in dark green, and
the woodwork was of polished mahogany. Never had he seen anything so
magnificent, and as he sank into a high-back seat, he uttered a sigh of
contentment.

But he was not allowed to enjoy his luxury long.

While he was gazing with wide-staring eyes at everything about him, a
colored porter entered the car and languidly glanced from one to
another of the occupants, as though making a mental calculation of the
tips he would receive, when his eyes fell on the poorly-clad figure of
Bob, holding his box of lunch on his knees.

With an exclamation of surprise, the porter hastened to where the lad
was sitting.

"What you-all doin' in hyar?" he demanded harshly.