The Sleeping-Car, a farce by William Dean Howells


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Page 1

MRS. ROBERTS. Why, aunty, how funny! How _could_ you suppose a serpent
could get on board a sleeping-car, of all places in the world!

AUNT MARY. That was the perfect absurdity of it.

THE PORTER. Berths ready now, ladies.

MRS. ROBERTS (to THE PORTER, who walks away to the end of the car, and
sits down near the door). Oh, thank you. Aunty, do you feel nervous the
least bit?

AUNT MARY. Nervous? No. Why?

MRS. ROBERTS. Well, I don't know. I suppose I've been worked up a
little about meeting Willis, and wondering how he'll look, and all. We
can't _know_ each other, of course. It doesn't stand to reason that if
he's been out there for twelve years, ever since I was a child, though
we've corresponded regularly--at least _I_ have--that he could recognize
me; not at the first glance, you know. He'll have a full beard; and then
I've got married, and here's the baby. Oh, _no_! he'll never guess who
it is in the world. Photographs really amount to nothing in such a case.
I wish we were at home, and it was all over. I wish he had written some
particulars, instead of telegraphing from Ogden, "Be with you on the 7
A.M., Wednesday."

AUNT MARY. Californians always telegraph, my dear; they never think of
writing. It isn't expensive enough, and it doesn't make your blood run
cold enough to get a letter, and so they send you one of those miserable
yellow despatches whenever they can--those printed in a long string, if
possible, so that you'll be _sure_ to die before you get to the end of
it. I suppose your brother has fallen into all those ways, and says
"reckon" and "ornary" and "which the same," just like one of Mr. Bret
Harte's characters.

MRS. ROBERTS. But it isn't exactly our not knowing each other, aunty,
that's worrying me; that's something that could be got over in time. What
is simply driving me distracted is Willis and Edward meeting there when
I'm away from home. Oh, how _could_ I be away! and why _couldn't_ Willis
have given us fair warning? I would have hurried from the ends of the
earth to meet him. I don't believe poor Edward ever saw a Californian;
and he's so quiet and preoccupied, I'm sure he'd never get on with
Willis. And if Willis is the least loud, he wouldn't like Edward. Not
that I suppose he _is_ loud; but I don't believe he knows anything about
literary men. But you can see, aunty, can't you, how very anxious I must
be? Don't you see that I ought to have been there when Willis and Edward
met, so as to--to--well, to _break_ them to each other, don't you know?

AUNT MARY. Oh, you needn't be troubled about that, Agnes. I dare say
they've got on perfectly well together. Very likely they're sitting down
to the unwholesomest hot supper this instant that the ingenuity of man
could invent.

MRS. ROBERTS. Oh, do you _think_ they are, aunty? Oh, if I could _only_
believe they were sitting down to a hot supper together now, I should be
_so_ happy! They'd be sure to get on if they were. There's nothing like
eating to make men friendly with each other. Don't you know, at
receptions, how they never have anything to say to each other till the
escalloped oysters and the chicken salad appear; and then how sweet they
are as soon as they've helped the ladies to ice? Oh, thank you, _thank_
you, aunty, for thinking of the hot supper. It's such a relief to my
mind! You can understand, can't you, aunty dear, how anxious I must have
been to have my only brother and my only--my husband--get on nicely
together? My life would be a wreck, simply a wreck, if they didn't. And
Willis and I not having seen each other since I was a child makes it all
the worse. I do _hope_ they're sitting down to a hot supper.

AN ANGRY VOICE from the next berth but one. I wish people in sleeping-
cars--

A VOICE from the berth beyond that. You're mistaken in your premises,
sir. This is a waking-car. Ladies, go on, and oblige an eager listener.

[Sensation, and smothered laughter from the other berths.]

MRS. ROBERTS (after a space of terrified silence, in a loud whisper to
her AUNT.) What horrid things! But now we really must go to bed. It
_was_ too bad to keep talking. I'd no idea my voice was getting so loud.
Which berth will you have, aunty? I'd better take the upper one,
because--

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Fri 29th Mar 2024, 8:02