Raymond. Of course he had long ago become acquainted with the brown traveling suit and fur collar. Of course there had been numberless little services for him to perform for her and the old gentleman, who had indeed proved to be her father. Bob had already begun to dread the end of the journey. He had gone to his berth{7} the night before wishing that San Francisco were ten days from Boston instead of six. Providence having taken him at his word and indicated that the journey would be of at least that duration, if not more, he was disposed, like no few of his fellow-mortals, to grumble.

{7}

Once more he became misanthropic. “There’s Miss Raymond, now,” he growled to himself, knocking his head savagely against the upper berth in his attempt to look out through the frosty pane, “sitting over across the aisle day after day with her kid gloves and all that. Nice enough, of course,” recalling one or two spirited conversations where hours had slipped by like minutes, “but confoundedly useless like the rest of ’em. If she were like mother, now, there’d be no trouble. She’d take care of herself. But as it is, the whole car will be turned upside down for her to-day, for fear she’ll freeze or starve or spoil her complexion, or something.{8}”

{8}

Here Bob turned an extremely cold shoulder on the window, and having performed a sort of horizontal toilet, emerged from his berth, his hair on end, and his face expressive of utter defiance to the world in general and contempt of fashionable young ladies in particular.

At that moment Miss Raymond appeared in the aisle, sweet and rosy as a June morning, her cheeks glowing and her eyes sparkling with fun.

“Good-morning, Mr. Estabrook,” she said demurely, settling the fur collar about her neck.

Bob endeavored to look dignified and was conscious of failure.

“Good mo-morning,” he replied with some stiffness, and a shiver which took him by surprise. It was cold, jumping out of that warm berth.

“I understand we must stay—but don’t let me detain you,” she added with a sly glance at his hair.{9}

{9}

Bob turned and marched off solemnly to the masculine end of the car, washed in ice-water, completed his toilet, and came back refreshed. Breakfast was formally served as usual, and then a council of war was held. Conductor, engineers, and brakemen being 

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