At first the boy did not know what to make of it. The car had big chairs instead of the ordinary seats, the windows were nearly twice as large as those in other coaches, and there were silk and plush curtains hanging over them. Besides there was a thick, soft velvety carpet on the floor of the coach, and, what with the inlaid and polished wood, the hangings, mirrors, brass and nickel-plated fixtures, Roy thought he had, by mistake, gotten into the private car of some millionaire. He had occasionally seen the outside of these fine coaches as they rushed through Painted Stone, but he had never dreamed that he would be in one. So, as soon as he entered the coach, he started back. "What's de matter, sah?" inquired a colored porter in polite tones, as he came from what seemed a little cubby-hole built in the side of the car. "Guess I'm in the wrong corral," remarked Roy, who was so used to using western and cattle terms, that he did not consider how they would sound to other persons. "Wrong corral, sah?" "Yes; I must be mixed in with the wrong brand. Where's the regular coach?" "Oh, dis coach am all reg'lar, sah. Reg'lar as can be. We ain't got none but reg'lar coaches on dis yeah express. No indeed, sah." "But I guess my ticket doesn't entitle me to a ride in a private car." "Let me see youh ticket, sah." Roy passed the negro the bit of pasteboard. "Oh, yes indeedy, sah. Youh is all right. Dis am de coach youh g'wine to ride in. We goes all de way to Chicago, sah." "Is this for regular passengers?" asked Roy, wondering how the railroad could afford to supply such luxurious cars. "Well, it's fo' them as pays fo' it, sah. Youh has got a ticket fo' de Pullman car, an' dis am it, sah. Let me show yo' to youh seat, sah." "Well, I s'pose it's all right," remarked Roy a little doubtfully. He saw several passengers smiling, and he wondered if they were laughing at him, or if he had made a mistake. He resolved to be careful, as he did not want it known that he was making a long journey for the first time. "Heah's youh seat," went on the porter, escorting Roy to a deep, soft chair. "I'll be right back yeah, an' if youh wants me, all youh has to do is push this yeah button," and he showed Roy an electric button fixed near the window. "Well, I don't know what I'll want of you," said the boy, trying to think what excuse he could have for calling the colored man. "Why, sah, youh might want to git breshed off, or youh might want a book, or a cigar--" "I don't smoke," retorted Roy promptly. "Well, I'm here to wait on passengers," went on the negro, "and if youh wants me all youh has to do is push that yeah button." "All right--er--" he paused, not knowing what to call the porter. "Mah name's George Washington Thomas Jefferson St. Louis Algernon Theophilus Brown, but folks dey gen'ally calls me George, sah," and the porter grinned so that he showed every one of his big white teeth.