There's--let's see
now--who's in eighty-seven? Well, there's two Bisons in the double
bed, and one in the single, and Fat Ed Meyers in the cot and--"
Emma McChesney stiffened into acute attention. "Meyers?" she
interrupted. "Do you mean Ed Meyers of the Strauss Sans-silk Skirt
Company?"
"That's so. You two are in the same line, aren't you? He's a great
little piano player, Ed is. Ever hear him play?"
"When did he get in?"
"Oh, he just came in fifteen minutes ago on the Ashland division. He's
in at supper." "Oh," said Emma McChesney. The two letters breathed
relief.
But relief had no place in the voice, or on the countenance of Jock
McChesney. He bristled with belligerence. "This cattle-car style of
sleeping don't make a hit. I haven't had a decent night's rest for
three nights. I never could sleep on a sleeper. Can't you fix us up
better than that?"
"Best I can do."
"But where's mother going? I see you advertise three 'large and
commodious steam-heated sample rooms in connection.
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