The light proved to be a lantern upon the little porch of a ramshackle shanty. An old man with immense horn-rimmed spectacles was reading by it out of a tattered magazine. When the couple came close, the old man looked up from his reading, and blessed his soul several times. "It do beat the Dutch!" he exclaimed in whining nasal tones, "if here ain't two more." "Two more what?" said Saterlee. "It's the floods, I reckon," whined the old man. "There's three on the kitchen floor and there's two ladies in my bed. That's why I'm sittin' up. There wa'n't no bed for a man in his own house. But I found this here old copy of the _Medical Revoo_, 'n' I'm puttin' in the time with erysipelis." "But," said Saterlee, "you must find some place for this lady to rest. She is worn out with walking and hunger." "Stop!" whined the old man, smiting his thigh, "if there ain't that there mattress in the loft! And I clean forgot, and told the boys that I hadn't nothin' better than a rug or two 'n the kitchen floor." "A mattress!" exclaimed Saterlee. "Splendid! I guess you can sleep some on anything near as good as a mattress. Can't you, ma'am?" "Indeed I could!" she said. "But you have been through as much as I have--more. I won't take it." The old man's whine interrupted. "Ain't you two married?" he said. "Nop," said Saterlee shortly. "Now ain't that ridiculous?" meditated the old man; "I thought you was all along." His eyes brightened behind the spectacles. "It ain't for me to interfere _in_ course," he said, "but hereabouts I'm a Justice of the Peace." Neither spoke. "I could rouse up the boys in the kitchen for witnesses," he insinuated. Saterlee turned suddenly to Mrs. Kimbal, but his voice was very humble. "Ma'am?" he suggested. MR. HOLIDAY Mr. Holiday stepped upon the rear platform of his car, the Mishawaka, exactly two seconds before the express, with a series of faint, well-oiled jolts, began to crawl forward and issue from beneath the glass roof of the Grand Central into the damp, pelting snow. Mr. Holiday called the porter and told him for the good of his soul that fifty years ago travelling had not been the easy matter that it was to-day. This off his mind, he pulled an _Evening Post_ from his pocket and dismissed the porter by beginning to read. He still wore his overcoat and high silk hat. These he would not remove until time had proved that the temperature of his car was properly regulated.