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Excuse Me! (Dramatic Reading)

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156 <h3 class="p6">CHAPTER XXII IN THE SMOKING ROOM</h3> Wellington's divorce breakfast reminded Ashton of a story. Ashton was one of the great That-Reminds-Me family. Perhaps it was to the credit of the Englishman that he missed the point of this story, even though Jimmie Wellington saw it through his fog, and Dr. Temple turned red and buried his eyes in the eminently respectable pages of the Scientific American. Ashton and Wellington and Fosdick exchanged winks over the Britisher's stare of incomprehension, and Ashton explained it to him again in words of one syllable, with signboards at all the difficult spots. Finally a gleam of understanding broke over Wedgewood's face and he tried to justify his delay. "Oh, yes, of cawse I see it now. Yes, I rather fancy I get you. It's awfully good, isn't it? I think I should have got it before but I'm not really myself; for two mawnings I haven't had my tub." Wellington shook with laughter: "If you're like this now, what will you be when you get to Sin san 157 frasco—I mean Frinsansisco—well, you know what I mean." Ashton reached round for the electric button as if he were conferring a favor: "The drinks are on you, Wedgewood. I'll ring." And he rang. "Awf'lly kind of you," said Wedgewood, "but how do you make that out?" "The man that misses the point, pays for the drinks." And he rang again. Wellington protested. "But I've jolly well paid for all the drinks for two days." Wellington roared: "That's another point you've missed." And Ashton rang again, but the pale yellow individual who had always answered the bell with alacrity did not appear. "Where's that infernal buffet waiter?" Ashton grumbled. Wedgewood began to titter. "We were out of Scotch, so I sent him for some more." "When?" "Two stations back. I fancy we must have left him behind." "Well, why in thunder didn't you say so?" Ashton roared. "It quite escaped my mind," Wedgewood grinned. "Rather good joke on you fellows, what?" "Well, I don't see the point," Ashton growled, but the triumphant Englishman howled: "That's where you pay!" Wedgewood had his laugh to himself, for the 158 others wanted to murder him. Ashton advised a lynching, but the conductor arrived on the scene in time to prevent violence. Fosdick informed him of the irretrievable loss of the useful buffet waiter. The conductor promised to get another at Ogden. Ashton wailed: "Have we got to sit here and die of thirst till then?" The conductor refused to "back up for a coon," but offered to send in a sleeping-car porter as a temporary substitute. As he started to go, Fosdick, who had been incessantly consulting his watch, checked him to ask: "Oh, conductor, when do we get to the State-line of dear old Utah?" "Dear old Utah!" the conductor grinned. "We'd 'a' been there already if we hadn't 'a' fell behind a little." "Just my luck to be late," Fosdick moaned. "What you so anxious to be in Utah for, Fosdick?" Ashton asked, suspiciously. "You go on to 'Frisco, don't you?" Fosdick was evidently confused at the direct question. He tried to dodge it: "Yes, but—funny how things have changed. When we started, nobody was speaking to anybody except his wife, now——" "Now," said Ashton, drily, "everybody's speaking to everybody except his wife." "You're wrong there," Little Jimmie interrupted. 159 "I wasn't speaking to my wife in the first place. We got on as strangersh and we're strangersh yet. Mrs. Well'n'ton is a——" "A queen among women, we know! Dry up," said Ashton, and then they heard the querulous voice of the porter of their sleeping car: "I tell you, I don't know nothin' about the buffet business." The conductor pushed him in with a gruff command: "Crawl in that cage and get busy." Still the porter protested: "Mista Pullman engaged me for a sleepin' car, not a drinkin' car. I'm a berth-maker, not a mixer." He cast a resentful glance through the window that served also as a bar, and his whole tone changed: "Say, is you goin' to allow me loose amongst all them beautiful bottles? Say, man, if you do, I can't guarantee my conduck." "If you even sniff one of those bottles," the conductor warned him, "I'll crack it over your head." "That won't worry me none—as long as my mouf's open." He smacked his chops over the prospect of intimacy with that liquid treasury. "Lordy! Well, I'll try to control my emotions—but remember, I don't guarantee nothin'." The conductor started to go, but paused for final instructions: "And remember—after we get to Utah you can't serve any hard liquor at all." "What's that? Don't they 'low nothin' in that old Utah but ice-cream soda?" 160 "That's about all. If you touch a drop, I'll leave you in Utah for life." "Oh, Lordy, I'll be good!" The conductor left the excited black and went his way. Ashton was the first to speak: "Say, Porter, can you mix drinks?" The porter ruminated, then confessed: "Well, not on the outside, no, sir. If you-all is thirsty you better order the simplest things you can think of. If you was to command anything fancy, Lord knows what you'd get. Supposin' you was to say, 'Gimme a Tom Collins.' I'd be just as liable as not to pass you a Jack Johnson." "Well, can you open beer?" "Oh, I'm a natural born beer-opener." "Rush it out then. My throat is as full of alkali dust as these windows." The porter soon appeared with a tray full of cotton-topped glasses. The day was hot and the alkali dust very oppressive, and the beer was cold. Dr. Temple looked on it when it was amber, and suffered himself to be bullied into taking a glass. He felt that he was the greatest sinner on earth, but worst of all was the fact that when he had fallen, the forbidden brew was not sweet. He was inexperienced enough to sip it and it was like foaming quinine on his palate. But he kept at it from sheer shame, and his luxurious transgression was its own punishment. 161 The doleful Mallory was on his way to join the "club". Crossing the vestibule he had met the conductor, and had ventured to quiz him along the old lines: "Excuse me, haven't you taken any clergymen on board this train yet?" "Devil a one." "Don't you ever carry any preachers on this road?" "Usually we get one or two. Last trip we carried a whole Methodist convention." "A whole convention last trip! Just my luck!" The unenlightened conductor turned to call back: "Say, up in the forward car we got a couple of undertakers. They be of any use to you?" "Not yet." Then Mallory dawdled on into the smoking room, where he found his own porter, who explained that he had been "promoted to the bottlery." "Do we come to a station stop soon?" Mallory asked. "Well, not for a considerable interval. Do you want to get out and walk up and down?" "I don't," said Mallory, taking from under his coat Snoozleums, whom he had smuggled past the new conductor. "Meanwhile, Porter, could you give him something to eat to distract him?" The porter grinned, and picking up a bill of fare held it out. "I got a meenuel. It ain't written in 162 dog, but you can explain it to him. What would yo' canine desiah, sah?" Snoozleums put out a paw and Mallory read what it indicated: "He says he'd like a filet Chateaubriand, but if you have any old bones, he'll take those." The porter gathered Snoozleums in and disappeared with him into the buffet, Mallory calling after him: "Don't let the conductor see him." Dr. Temple advanced on the disconsolate youth with an effort at cheer: "How is our bridegroom this beautiful afternoon?" Mallory glanced at his costume: "I feel like a rainbow gone wrong. Just my luck to have to borrow from everybody. Look at me! This collar of Mr. Wellington's makes me feel like a peanut in a rubber tire." He turned to Fosdick. "I say, Mr. Fosdick, what size collar do you wear?" "Fourteen and a half," said Fosdick. "Fourteen and a half!—why don't you get a neck? You haven't got a plain white shirt, have you? Our English friend lent me this, but it's purple, and Mr. Ashton's socks are maroon, and this peacock blue tie is very unhappy." "I think I can fit you out," said Fosdick. "And if you had an extra pair of socks," Mallory pleaded,—"just one pair of unemotional socks." "I'll show you my repertoire." "All right, I'll see you later." Then he went up 163 to Wellington, with much hesitance of manner. "By the way, Mr. Wellington, do you suppose Mrs. Wellington could lend Miss—Mrs.—could lend Marjorie some—some——" Wellington waved him aside with magnificent scorn: "I am no longer in Mrs. Wellington's confidence." "Oh, excuse me," said Mallory. He had noted that the Wellingtons occupied separate compartments, but for all he knew their reason was as romantic as his own. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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