I'll lose my train."

And in Bob's voice, as he pictured himself in his mind left beside the
railroad tracks in a strange place and at night, there was a plaintive
appeal.

"You don't have to git off ther train," snarled the porter. "All you
gotta do is to walk right fru ther other cyars, three of 'em, mind you,
and you'll find your chair cyar. The idea of you-all getting into a
parlah cyar with a chair-cyar ticket."

Reassured by the information that it would be unnecessary for him to
leave the train in order to reach the proper car, Bob rose from the soft
and luxurious seat slowly.

"Come, hurry," growled the porter, making a move as though to seize Bob
by the arm and drag him from the car.

But before he could do so, the stern voice of an elderly and
well-dressed man, who was occupying the second seat ahead, exclaimed:

"Porter, can't you see this boy is unaccustomed to travelling? Why
don't you show him the way to the chair car?"

"What, _me_ take that crittur fru three coaches? It's----"

But the negro was not given the opportunity to finish.

Bumping into the porter so that he knocked him to one side, the man who
had taken the negro to task for his treatment of Bob exclaimed: