The others made gestures which he could not see. His enlightenment came when Mallory snapped the towel from his hands and glared into his face with all the righteous wrath of a man hearing his domestic affairs publicly discussed. "Were you alluding to me, Mr. Wellington?" he demanded, hotly. Little Jimmie almost perished with apoplexy: "You, you?" he mumbled. "Why, of course not. You're not the only bridegroom on the train." Mallory tossed him the towel again: "You meant Mr. Lathrop then?" "Me! Not much!" roared the indignant Lathrop. Mallory returned to Wellington with a fiercer: "Whom, then?" He was in a dangerous mood, and Ashton came to the rescue: "Oh, don't mind Wellington. He's not sober yet." This inspired suggestion came like a life-buoy to the hard-pressed Wellington. He seized it and spoke thickly: "Don't mind me--I'm not shober yet." "Well, it's a good thing you're not," was Mallory's final growl as he began his own toilet. The porter's bell began to ring furiously, with a touch they had already come to recognize as the Englishman's. The porter had learned to recognize it, too, and he always took double the necessary time to answer it. He was sauntering down the aisle at his most leisurely gait when Wedgewood's rumpled mane shot out from the curtains like a lion's from a jungle, and he bellowed: "Pawtah! Pawtah!" "Still on the train," said the porter. "You may give me my portmanteau." "Yassah." He dragged it from the upper berth, and set it inside Wedgewood's berth without special care as to its destination. "Does you desire anything else, sir?" "Yes, your absence," said Wedgewood. "The same to you and many of them," the porter muttered to himself, and added to Marjorie, who was just starting down the aisle: "I'll suttainly be interested in that man gittin' where he's goin' to git to." Noting that she carried Snoozleums, he said: "We're comin' into a station right soon." Without further discussion she handed him the dog, and he hobbled away. When she reached the women's door, she found Mrs. Wellington waiting with increasing exasperation: "Come, join the line at the box office," she said. "Good morning. Who's in there?" said Marjorie, and Mrs. Wellington, not noting that Mrs. Whitcomb had come out of her berth and fallen into line, answered sharply: "I don't know. She's been there forever. I'm sure it's that cat of a Mrs. Whitcomb." "Good morning, Mrs. Mallory," snapped Mrs. Whitcomb. Mrs. Wellington was rather proud that the random shot landed, but Marjorie felt most uneasy between the two tigresses: "Good morning, Mrs. Whitcomb," she said. There was a disagreeable silence, broken finally by Mrs. Wellington's: "Oh, Mrs. Mallory, would you be angelic enough to hook my gown?" "Of course I will," said Marjorie. "May I hook you?" said Mrs. Whitcomb.