Part 11 (1/2)

It beat all the dinners I ever had, that one. There we were poundin'

over the rails through Pennsylvania at a mile-a-minute clip, the tomato soup doin' a merry-go-round in the plates, the engine tootin' for grade crossin's; and Sir Peter, wearin' his pail as dignified as a cardinal does a red hat, talkin' just as if he was back on the farm, up north of London. I don't blame Rufus Rastus for wearin' his eyes on the outside.

They stuck out like the waist-b.u.t.tons on a Broadway cop, and he hardly knew whether he was waitin' on table, or makin' up a berth.

With his second gla.s.s of fizz Sir Peter began to thaw a little. He hadn't paid much attention to me for a while, pa.s.sin' most of his remarks over to Mr. Gordon; but all of a sudden he comes at me with:

”You're a Home Ruler, I expect?”

”Sure,” says I. ”Now, spring the gag.”

But if there was a stinger to it, he must have lost it in the shuffle; for he opens up a line of talk that I didn't have the key to at all. Mr.

Gordon tells me afterwards it was English politics and that Sir Peter was tryin' to register me as a Conservative. Anyway, I've promised to vote for Balfour, or somebody like that next election; so I'm goin' to send word to Little Tim that he needn't come around. Had to do it, just to please the old gent. By the time we'd got to the little cups of black he'd switched to something else.

”I don't suppose you know anything about railroads?” says he to Mr.

Gordon.

Then it was my grin. Railroads is what Pyramid plays with, you know.

He's a director on three or four lines himself, and is always lookin'

for more. It's about as safe to leave a branch road out after nightfall when Gordon's around as it would be to try to raise watermelons in Minetta Lane. He grinned, too, and said something about not knowing as much about 'em as he did once.

With that Sir Peter lights up one of Mr. Gordon's Key West night-sticks and cuts adrift on the railroad business. That made the boss kind of sick at first. Railroads was something he was tryin' to forget for the evenin'. But there wasn't any shuttin' the old jay off. And say! he knew the case-cards all right. There was too much high finance about it for me to follow close; but anyways I seen that it made Mr. Gordon sit up and take notice. He'd peg in a question now and then, and got the old one so stirred up that after a while he shed the bucket, lugged out one of his bags, and flashed a lot of papers done up in neat little piles.

He said it was a report he was goin' to make to some board or other, if ever the decimals would quit bothering him long enough.

Well, that sort of thing might keep Mr. Gordon awake, but not for mine.

Half-way to Baltimore I turns in, leaving 'em at it. I had a good snooze, too.

Mr. Gordon comes to my bunk in the mornin', very mysterious. ”Shorty,”

says he, ”we're in. I've got to go up to the State Department for an hour or so, and while I'm gone I'd like you to keep an eye on Sir Peter.

If he takes a notion to wander off, you persuade him to stay until I get back.”

”What you say goes,” says I.

I shoved up the shade and sees that they'd put the Adeline down at the end of the train-shed. About all I could see of Was.h.i.+ngton was the top of old George's headstone stickin' up over a freight-car. I fixed myself up and had breakfast, just as if I was in a boardin'-house, and then sits around waitin' for Sir Peter. He an' Danvers shows up after a while, and the old gent calls for tea and toast and jam. Then I knows he's farther off his base than ever. Think of truck like that for breakfast! But he gets away with it, and then says to Danvers:

”Time we were off for the city, my man.”

I got a glimpse of trouble ahead, right there; for that chump of a Danvers never made a move when I gives him the wink. All he could get into that peanut head of his at one time was to collect those leather bags and get ready to trot around wherever that long-legged old lunatic led the way.

”They've changed the time on that train of yours, Sir Pete,” says I.

”She don't come along until ten-twenty-six now, spring schedule,” and I winks an eye loose at Danvers.

”'Pon my word!” says Sir Peter, ”you here yet? Danvers, show this person to the gates.”

”Yes, sir,” says Danvers. He comes up to me an' whispers, kind of ugly: ”I sye now, you'll 'ave to stop chaffin' Sir Peter. I won't 'ave it!”

”Help!” says I. ”There's a rat after me.”

”Hi'll bash yer bloomin' nose in!” says he, gettin' pink behind the ears.