The Vestibule Limited Mystery — page 74: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE VESTIBULE LIMITED MYSTERY. 65 three, and I sigh with satisfaction to see that the larger part of the night has gone. At intervals, the train makes furious time, lam sure a mile a minute, and I fairly hold my breath as we fly along. As before, that intolerable thirst comes tome. I resist for quite a while, but my mouth and throat seem so parched that I can stand it no longer, so I get down from my berth, and pass along between the curtains to where the ice-water is to be found, not forgetting to take the Jamaica ginger with me. There is no movement in the lower berth, and I imagine Robert Hammond must be sleeping sound- ly. I quite envy the fellow and wish I could follow suit, little realizing what that might mean. Once in the lavatory I allow some water to pass into a glass, add the few drops of ginger, and seat myself upon the stool near by. It will do no good to gulp the water down; in order to quench that thirst I allow the contents of the glass to trickle along my throat. It is not far from daylight, and we are making things hum over the level stretches on the way to Fort Wayne. The porter is abroad, and will soon be at work polishing the shoes of the inmates of the El] Dorado. I hear him in the smoking compartment utter an exclamation. Then he comes into view, holding the grape basket. | “Bress my soul, if de pore little mouser ain’t done gone dead!” he says, lifting out the defunct cat tenderly. | My conscience reproaches me for having been the cause of the wretched animal’s demise, but I re- member that it was to save a human life, and that eases the strain. I would like to make it up to the ‘comicboo cS co