“Nine o’clock—train for La Punta. Well, that’s gone. Hello! Here we are—eleven P. M. express for the City of Mexico. I wonder what that asterisk means. Oh, yes, Pullmans only. That would be infinitely more pleasant than the brake-beams of a freight,” he mused, “and for me it would be equally cheap.” Stephen was a novice at the art of “beating it,” but he possessed two very valuable assets, a keen observation and a vivid imagination. Having thus resolved to travel in state, he returned to his flat car, and set about planning ways and means. A few minutes of solemn thought gave him his first conclusion: that at this time of year the southbound trains would not be running full. “Therefore there will be many vacant berths,” he thought. A few more puffs upon his pipe gave him the next link in his plan. “Whether empty, or full, the Pullman company has all the berths down.” Thought number three: “At night they make long runs, without stopping. Therefore,” thought Stephen, “once on board, and safely tucked in an upper berth, I can travel until morning without being discovered and thrown off the train.” “Now comes the second part of my problem: how to get on the train and into my berth without being discovered.” He shut his eyes, and visualized a train standing at the station. “Where would the porters stand?” he asked himself. He thought hard, and remembered that at night the porters generally stand at opposite ends of their cars, so that every alternate set of steps is unguarded. “Now,” he reflected, “if the berths are down, the curtains will be drawn, therefore there will be little light from the car windows, to bring me into prominence, and the passengers will probably be asleep. All will go well, if the vestibule doors are not locked. But generally on hot nights they are unlocked. Anyhow, I must risk it.” As he mused over his plan giving it the final touches, the express for the City of Mexico thundered into the station. With a grating of brakes, and a squish of steam, the heavy train sobbed itself to a stop, the engine dropping from the fire-box a stream of glowing coals between the gleaming steel rails, and blowing forth steam from the exhaust. “Here’s my train,” thought Loring. “It looks very comfortable.” He slipped his pipe into his pocket, and stepping back into a shadowy corner, awaited his opportunity. From the platform arose an irregular murmur of voices, such as always attends the arrival of a train at night. That murmur which, to the passengers lying half awake, sounds so far away, and unreal! He heard the bang and thump of trunks being thrown out of the baggage car. A party of tourists, weighted down with hand-luggage, hurried by him. Even as he thought, the white-jacketed porters stood with their little steps alternately at the right and left ends of their respective cars, so that in the long train there were three unguarded platforms.