A lively looking porter stood on the rear platform of a sleeping-car in the Pennsylvania station when a fussy and choleric old man clambered up the steps. He stopped at the door, puffed for a moment, and then turned to the young man in uniform.
"Porter," he said. "I'm going to St. Louis, to the Fair. I want to be well taken care of. I pay for it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir, but—"
"Never mind any 'buts.' You listen to what I say. Keep the train boys away from me. Dust me off whenever I want you to. Give me an extra blanket, and if there is any one in the berth over me slide him into another. I want you to—"
"But, say, boss, I—"
"Young man, when I'm giving instructions I prefer to do the talking myself. You do as I say. Here is a two-dollar bill. I want to get the good of it. Not a word, sir."
The train was starting. The porter pocketed the bill with a grin and swung himself to the ground. "All right, boss!" he shouted. "You can do the talking if you want to. I'm powerful sorry you wouldn't let me tell you—but I ain't going out on that train."