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.

"All right—George," said Roy, beginning to understand something of matters. "I'll call you if I want you."

"Dey calls out when it's meal time."

"What's that?"

"I say dey calls out when it's meal time. De dining car potah will call out when it's time fo' dinner."

"Oh," remarked Roy, rather dubiously, for he did not know exactly what was meant.

The porter left him, laughing to himself at the lack of knowledge shown by the boy from the ranch, but for all that George Washington St. Louis Algernon Theophilus Brown resolved to do all he could for Roy. As for the young traveler he was so interested in the scenery, as it appeared to fly past the broad windows of the car, that he did not worry about what he was going to do when it came meal time.

Still, after an hour or so of looking out of the window it became a little tiresome, and he turned around to observe his fellow passengers. Seated near him was a well-dressed man, who had quite a large watch chain strung across his vest. He had a sparkling stone in his necktie, and another in a ring on his finger.

"Your first trip East?" he asked, nodding in a friendly way to Roy.

"My first trip, of any account, anywhere. I haven't taken a long railroad journey since I was a baby, and I don't remember that."

"I thought you looked as if you hadn't been a very great distance away from home. Going far?"

"To New York."

"Ah you have business there, I suppose?"

Now Roy, though he was but a youth, unused to the ways of the world, had much natural shrewdness. He had been brought up in the breeziness of the West, where it is not considered good form, to say the least, to ask too many questions of a man. If a person wanted to tell you his affairs, that was a different matter. So, as Roy's mission was more or less of a secret one, he decided it would not be well to talk about it, especially to strangers. So he answered:

"Yes, I have some business there."

His manner was such that the man soon saw the boy did not care to talk about his affairs, and, being a keen observer, too much so for Roy's good, as we shall soon see, the man did not pursue his questioning on those lines.

"Fine scenery," he remarked. "Good, open country around here."

Roy felt that was a safe enough subject to talk about, and he and the man, who introduced himself as Mr. Phelan Baker, spent some time in conversation.

Roy, however, was continually wondering what he should do when the announcement was made that dinner was to be served. He did not want to make any mistakes, and have the car full of passengers laugh at him, yet he did not know what was proper to do under the circumstances.

He had neglected to Inquire how they served meals on trains, and, in fact, had he done so, no one at the ranch could have told him, as not even Mr. Bradner had traveled enough to make it necessary to eat in a dining car.

"If I was back at the ranch I'd know what to do when I heard the grub-call," thought Roy. "But this thing has got me puzzled. It sure has. I wonder if they bring you in sandwiches and coffee, as they did to a party I went to? Or do you have to go up and help yourself? I don't see how they cook anything on a train going as fast as this one. They must have to eat cold victuals. Well, I guess I can stand it for a few days, I've eaten cold bacon and bread when on a round-up, and I'm not going to hold back now. Guess I'll just do as the rest do."

A little while after this a colored man, in a spotless white suit, passed through the parlor car, calling out:

"Dinner is now being served in the dining car. First call for dinner!"

"Well, it's up to me to go to grub now," thought Roy. "I wonder how I'll make out?"

CHAPTER V

A QUEER BED

"Are you going to eat on the first call?" asked Mr. Baker, rising from his comfortable chair and looking at Roy.

"I don't know—I think—Yes, I guess I will."

It suddenly occurred to the boy that he might take advantage of the acquaintance he had formed with the man, and observe just how he ought to conduct himself in the dining car.

"I shall be glad of your company," spoke Mr. Baker, with a pleasant smile. "Will you sit at my table?"

"I'm not so very hungry," remarked Roy, thinking that if he found things too strange he could call for something simple, though the truth was he had an excellent appetite.

"I am not either," declared Mr. Baker. "I never eat much while traveling, but I think it best to have my meals regularly. Now, if you'll come with me, we'll see what they have at this traveling hotel."

He led the way from the parlor to the dining car. If Roy had been astonished at the magnificence of the first coach he was doubly so at the scene which now met his eyes.

Arranged along both sides of the dining car, next to the broad, high windows, were small tables, sparkling with cut-glass and silver. In the center of each table was a small pot of graceful ferns, while throughout the car there were