In the ladies' waiting room there is the usual contingent of peripatetic public. The bright-eyed, self-possessed young lady who is the traveling agent for a book, or, perhaps, a new silverware polish, has learned the art of traveling. Haste and flurry are unknown to her. A neat traveling cloak and a light hand satchel comprise her accoutrements. She waits patiently, tapping lightly with a patent leather toe, and faintly humming the refrain of a song. Not so the large and copious family who are about to make the journey of their lives--at least fifty miles. Baskets, bags, valises, buckets, paper bundles, pot-plants, babies and dogs cover the benches in their vicinity. The head of the family wears a look as deadly solemn as if he were on his way to execution. His face shows the strain of the terrible journey he is about to undertake. He holds his tickets in his moist hand with a vice-like grip. Traveling is a serious matter with him. His good lady has taken off her bonnet. She drags out articles from boxes and bags and puts them back; she trots the baby and strews aprons, hairpins, knitted gloves and crackers far and wide. She tells John where she has hidden $13 under a loose board at home; she would never have mentioned it, but she is certain the train is going to run off the track and she may be killed. A few grummy looking men sit with their coat collars turned up, by the side of their weary spouses, who look as if they cared not for accidents, end of the world, or even fashions. A black-veiled woman with a prattling boy of five sits in a corner, disconsolate and lone; some aimless stragglers enter and wander through the room and out again. * * * * * In the men's waiting room there is more life. Depot officials in uniform hurry through with lanterns. Travelers loll upon the benches, smoke, read and chat. From the buzz of voices fragments of connected words can be caught that read something like this: "Got a $300 order from him, but it cost me $10 in drinks and theater tickets to get it--yes, I'm going to Galveston; doctor ordered perfect quiet and rest-a daisy, you bet; blond hair, dark eyes and the prettiest--lost $20 on treys up; wired my house for expense money this morning--ain't seen Sam for fifteen year; goin' to stay till Christmas--loan me that paper if you're through with it--Red flannel scratches me, this is what I wear--wonder if the train's on time--No, sir, don't keep the _North American Review_, but here's _Puck_ and _Judge_--came home earlier one night and found her sitting on the front steps with--gimme a light please--Houston is the city of Texas--confound it, I told Maria not to put those cream puffs in my pocket--No, a cat didn't do it, it's a fingernail mark; you see I put the letter in the wrong envelope, and-Toot--toot--toot--toot--toot."