"I have a splendid head of hair, too," he commented. "But there's a young man in the car back of this who'll be twenty-two years of age in February, and he's got more dandruff than hair. Where are you going?" "Cleveland." "Is that your home?" "No. I'm a bird of passage." "What is your name?" "I am Miss Hampton," she said, and she hoped that he might have heard of her. But he hadn't. And she explained herself. "I'm to play at the Euclid Theatre Christmas night." "An actor?" he said. "Well," she admitted, "some say so, and some won't hear of it." "How much money do you earn?" "Two hundred dollars a week." Mr. Holiday wrote that in his note-book. "I've got some little nieces and nephews in New York," she volunteered. "Don't you think it's hard to be a genuine aunt and to have to spend Christmas alone in a strange place?" "Not for two hundred dollars a week," said Mr. Holiday unsympathetically. "You ought to thank your stars and garters." Presently, after patting her on the back with two fingers, he rose, bowed, and passed on down the aisle. On the right, in the end section, was a very old couple, with snow-white hair, and a great deal of old-fashioned luggage. Mr. Holiday greeted them cordially, and asked their ages. The old gentleman was seventy-six and proud of it; the old lady was seventy. Mr. Holiday informed them that he was eighty, but that they were probably the next oldest people on the train. Anyway, he would find out and let them know. They smiled good-naturedly, and the old lady cuddled a little against the old gentleman, for it was cold in that car. Mr. Holiday turned abruptly. "I forgot to ask you where you are going?" he said. They told him that they were going to spend Christmas with their daughter and son-in-law and the new baby in Cleveland. It was a long journey. But the season made them feel young and strong. Did Mr. Holiday think there was any danger of being delayed by the snow? It was coming down very fast. They could not remember ever to have been in a sleeping-car when it was snowing so hard outside. Mr. Holiday said that he would ask the conductor about the snow, and let them know. In the smoking compartment of the next car forward sat a very young man, all alone. He looked at once sulky and frightened. He wasn't smoking, but was drumming on the window sill with his finger nails. He had a gardenia in his button-hole, and was dressed evidently in his very best suit--a handsome dark gray, over a malaga-grape-colored waistcoat. In his necktie was a diamond horseshoe pin. "Young man," said Mr. Holiday, seating himself, "what makes you look so cross?" The young man started to say, "None of your business," but perceived in time the eager face and snow-white hair of his questioner, and checked himself. "Why," he said tolerantly, "do I look as savage as all that?" "It isn't money troubles," said Mr. Holiday, "or you would have pawned that diamond pin."