The tone in which the question was asked now caused the other
passengers, who had hitherto been too busy getting themselves
comfortably settled to notice Bob, to turn their gaze upon him.

"I'm going to Chicago," returned Bob.

But the hostile look on the porter's face scared him, and he could not
help a tremor that crept into his voice as he made his reply.

"Whar's yer ticket?" snarled the negro.

Reaching into his pocket, Bob drew forth the long strip of paper and
presented it to the officious porter.

"The ticket's all right," grunted the man. "Now, whar's youah parlah
cyar ticket?"

"My what?" asked Bob.

"Youah parlah cyar ticket."

"That's all the ticket I have," returned Bob. "Isn't that enough? I told
the man I wanted a chair-car ticket, and that's what he gave me."

"Huh! I thought so. This ain't no chair cyar. This is a parlah cyar.
The cyar you-all want is up front, four cyars ahead. Now get out of hyar
lively."

"But I can't get out while the train's going," protested Bob. "I might
get hurt, and--and besides, I want to go to Chicago, and if I get off