I had gotten warmed up, however, by my friend's civility at the other station,
and I meant to go if there was any way to do it, so I grabbed up my bags
and rushed out of the warm depot into the cold air again. I found the car
and the conductor standing outside of it by the steps. The first thing
that struck me was his appearance. Instead of being the dapper young
naval-officerish-looking fellow I was accustomed to, he was a stout,
elderly man, with bushy, gray hair and a heavy, grizzled mustache,
who looked like an old field-marshal. He was surrounded by quite a number
of people all crowding about him and asking him questions at once,
some of whose questions he was answering slowly as he pored over his diagram,
and others of which he seemed to be ignoring. Some were querulous,
some good-natured, and all impatient, but he answered them all
with imperturbable good humor. It was very cold, so I pushed my way
into the crowd. As I did so I heard him say to someone:
`You asked me if the lower berths were all taken, did you not?' `Yes,
five minutes ago!' snapped the fellow, whom I had already heard swearing,
on the edge of the circle. `Well, they are all taken, just as they were
the first time I told you they were,' he said, and opened a despatch
given him by his porter, a tall, black, elderly negro with gray hair.
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