He remembered how indignantly Mr. Wedgewood had refused to show his ticket, how cocksure he was of his number, how he had leased the porter's services as a sort of private nurse, and had paid no advance royalties. And now he was sprawled and snoring majestically among his many luggages, like a sleeping lion. Revenge tasted good to the humble porter; it tasted like a candied yam smothered in 'possum gravy. He smacked his thick lips over this revenge. With all the insolence of a servant in brief authority, he gloated over his prey, and prodded him awake. Then murmured with hypocritical deference: "Excuse me, but could I see yo' ticket for yo' seat?" "Certainly not! It's too much trouble," grumbled the half asleeper. "Confound you!" The porter lured him on: "Is you sho' you got one?" Wedgewood was wide awake now, and surly as any Englishman before breakfast: "Of cawse I'm shaw. How dare you?" "Too bad, but I'm 'bleeged to ask you to gimme a peek at it." "This is an outrage!" "Yassah, but I just nachelly got to see it." Wedgewood gathered himself together, and ransacked his many pockets with increasing anger, muttering under his breath. At length he produced the ticket, and thrust it at the porter: "Thah, you idiot, are you convinced now?" The porter gazed at the billet with ill-concealed triumph. "Yassah. I's convinced," Mr. Wedgewood settled back and closed his eyes. "I's convinced that you is in the wrong berth!" "Impossible! I won't believe you!" the Englishman raged, getting to his feet in a fury. "Perhaps you'll believe Mista Ticket," the porter chortled. "He says numba ten, and that's ten across the way and down the road a piece." "This is outrageous! I decline to move." "You may decline, but you move just the same," the porter said, reaching out for his various bags and carryalls. "The train moves and you move with it." Wedgewood stood fast: "You had no right to put me in here in the first place." The porter disdained to refute this slander. He stumbled down the aisle with the bundles. "It's too bad, it's sutt'nly too bad, but you sholy must come along." Wedgewood followed, gesticulating violently. "Here--wait--how dare you! And that berth is made up. I don't want to go to bed now!" "Mista Ticket says, 'Go to baid!'" "Of all the disgusting countries! Heah, don't put that thah--heah." The porter flung his load anywhere, and absolved himself with a curt, "I's got otha passengers to wait on now." "I shall certainly report you to the company," the Englishman fumed. "Yassah, I p'sume so." "Have I got to go to bed now? Really, I----" but the porter was gone, and the irate foreigner crawled under his curtains, muttering: "I shall write a letter to the _London Times_ about this."