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MRS. ROBERTS: Why, Edward, what can you mean?

MR. ROBERTS: He’s very violent. Suppose it shouldn’t be Willis?

MRS. ROBERTS: Nonsense! It is Willis. Come, let’s both go and just tax him with it. He can’t deny it, after all he’s done for me. [She pulls her reluctant husband toward THE CALIFORNIAN’S berth, and they each draw a curtain.] Willis!

THE CALIFORNIAN
(with plaintive endurance). Well, ma’am?

MRS. ROBERTS
(triumphantly). There! I knew it was you all along. How could you play such a joke on me?

THE CALIFORNIAN: I didn’t know there’d been any joke; but I suppose there must have been, if you say so. Who am I now, ma’am–your husband, or your baby, or your husband’s wife, or–

MRS. ROBERTS: How funny you are! You know you’re Willis Campbell, my only brother. Now don’t try to keep it up any longer, Willis.

[Voices from various berths. “Give us a rest, Willis!” “Joke’s too thin, Willis!” “You’re played out, Willis!” “Own up, old fellow–own up!”]

THE CALIFORNIAN
(issuing from his berth, and walking up and down the aisle, as before, till quiet is restored). I haven’t got any sister, and my name ain’t Willis, and it ain’t Campbell. I’m very sorry, because I’d like to oblige you any way I could.

MRS. ROBERTS
(in deep mortification). It’s I who ought to apologize, and I do most humbly. I don’t know what to say; but when I got to thinking about it, and how kind you had been to me, and how sweet you had been under all my–interruptions, I felt perfectly sure that you couldn’t be a mere stranger, and then the idea struck me that you must be my brother in disguise; and I was so certain of it that I couldn’t help just letting you know that we’d found you out, and–

MR. ROBERTS
(offering a belated and feeble moral support). Yes.

MRS. ROBERTS
(promptly turning upon him). And you ought to have kept me from making such a simpleton of myself, Edward.

THE CALIFORNIAN
(soothingly). Well, ma’am, that ain’t always so easy. A man may mean well, and yet not be able to carry out his intentions. But it’s all right. And I reckon we’d better try to quiet down again, and get what rest we can.

MRS. ROBERTS: Why, yes, certainly; and I will try–oh, I will try not to disturb you again. And if there’s anything we can do in reparation after we reach Boston, we shall be so glad to do it!

[They bow themselves away, and return to their seat, while THE CALIFORNIAN re-enters his berth.]

III.

The train stops at Framingham, and THE PORTER comes in with a passenger whom he shows to the seat opposite MR. and MRS. ROBERTS.

THE PORTER: You can sit here, sah. We’ll be in in about an hour now. Hang up your bag for you, sah?

THE PASSENGER: No, leave it on the seat here.

[THE PORTER goes out, and the ROBERTSES maintain a dejected silence. The bottom of the bag, thrown carelessly on the seat, is toward the ROBERTSES, who regard it listlessly.]

MRS. ROBERTS
(suddenly clutching her husband’s arm, and hissing in his ear). See! [She points to the white lettering on the bag, where the name “Willis Campbell, San Francisco,” is distinctly legible.] But it can’t be; it must be some other Campbell. I can’t risk it.

MR. ROBERTS: But there’s the name. It would be very strange if there were two people from San Francisco of exactly the same name. I will speak.