MR. ROBERTS. Well, I don't know, really. Not very tall, rather slight,
blue eyes. I--I don't know what you'd call her nose. And--stop! Oh
yes, she had a child with her, a little boy. Yes!

THE PORTER (thoughtfully looking down the aisle). Dey was three ladies
had children. I didn't notice whether dey was boys or girls, or _what_
dey was. Didn't have anybody with her?

MR. ROBERTS. No, no. Only the child.

THE PORTER. Well, I don't know what you are going to do, sah. It won't
be a great while now till morning, you know. Here comes the conductor.
Maybe he'll know what to do.

[MR. ROBERTS makes some futile, inarticulate attempts to prevent The
PORTER from laying the case before THE CONDUCTOR, and then stands
guiltily smiling, overwhelmed with the hopeless absurdity of his
position.]

THE CONDUCTOR (entering the car, and stopping before THE PORTER, and
looking at MR. ROBERTS). Gentleman want a berth?

THE PORTER (grinning). Well, no, sah. He's lookin' for his wife.

THE CONDUCTOR (with suspicion). Is she aboard this car?

MR. ROBERTS (striving to propitiate THE CONDUCTOR by a dastardly
amiability). Oh, yes, yes. There's no mistake about the car--the
Governor Marcy. She telegraphed the name just before you left Albany, so