"You don't have to tell me that," she said, rubbing her smarting cheek. Then she bumped her head and gasped: "Oh--what you said." This made them feel so much at home that she attained the heights of frankness and honesty by reaching in her handbag for a knob of supplementary hair, which she affixed dextrously to what was homegrown. Ira, instead of looking shocked, loved her for her honesty, and grinned: "Now, that's where you have got something on me. Say, we're like a couple of sardines trying to make love in a tin can." "It's cosy though," she said, and then vanished through the curtains and shyly ran the gauntlet of amused glances and over-cordial "Good mornings" till she hid her blushes behind the door of the women's room and turned the key. If she had thought of it she would have said, "God bless the man that invented doors--and the other angel that invented locks." The passengers this morning were all a little brisker than usual. It was the last day aboard for everybody and they showed a certain extra animation, like the inmates of an ocean liner when land has been sighted. Ashton was shaving when Ira swaggered into the men's room. Without pausing to note whom he was addressing, Ashton sang out: "Good morning. Did you rest well?" "What!" Ira roared. "Oh, excuse me!" said Ashton, hastily, devoting himself to a gash his safety razor had made in his cheek--even in that cheek of his. Ira scrubbed out the basin, filled it and tried to dive into it, slapping the cold water in double handfuls over his glowing face and puffing through it like a porpoise. Meanwhile the heavy-eyed Fosdick was slinking through the dining-car, regarded with amazement by Dr. Temple and his wife, who were already up and breakfasting. "What's the matter with the bridal couples on this train, anyway?" said Dr. Temple. "I can't imagine," said his wife, "we old couples are the only normal ones." "Some more coffee, please, mother," he said. "But your nerves," she protested. "It's my vacation," he insisted. Mrs. Temple stared at him and shook her head: "I wonder what mischief you'll be up to to-day? You've already been smoking, gambling, drinking--have you been swearing, yet?" "Not yet," the old clergyman smiled, "I've been saving that up for a good occasion. Perhaps it will rise before the day's over." And his wife choked on her tea at the wonderful train-change that had come over the best man in Ypsilanti. By this time Fosdick had reached the stateroom from which he had been banished again at the Nevada state-line. He knocked cautiously. From within came an anxious voice: "Who's there?" "Whom did you expect?" Mrs. Fosdick popped her head out like a Jill in the box. "Oh, it's you, Arthur. Kiss me good morning." He glanced round stealthily and obeyed instructions: "I guess its safe--my darling." "Did you sleep, dovie?" she yawned. "Not a wink. They took off the Portland car at Granger and I had to sleep in one of the chairs in the observation room."