taken while you was wanderin' around the car last night."

"I'll give you fifty dollars if you find it," I said. "A hundred.
Reach up my shoes and I'll--"

I stopped abruptly. My eyes were fixed in stupefied amazement on
a coat that hung from a hook at the foot of my berth. From the
coat they traveled, dazed, to the soft-bosomed shirt beside it, and
from there to the collar and cravat in the net hammock across the
windows.

"A hundred!" the porter repeated, showing his teeth. But I caught
him by the arm and pointed to the foot of the berth.

"What--what color's that coat?" I asked unsteadily.

"Gray, sir." His tone was one of gentle reproof.

"And--the trousers?"

He reached over and held up one creased leg. "Gray, too," he
grinned.

"Gray!" I could not believe even his corroboration of my own eyes.
"But my clothes were blue!" The porter was amused: he dived under
the curtains and brought up a pair of shoes. "Your shoes, sir," he
said with a flourish. "Reckon you've been dreaming, sir."

Now, there are two things I always avoid in my dress--possibly an
idiosyncrasy of my bachelor existence. These tabooed articles are