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. 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 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."