“And why didn’t the old lady bring along Hamlet?” demanded Nat. “The Prince of Denmark would have found life in a Pullman endurable, I fancy. He was a philosophical¹ old shark.”

 

“Speaking of eggs,” Ned said, ignoring his brother’s irreverent observation about the Melancholy² Dane, “speaking of eggs——”

 

“Well! speak, I prithee!” said Tavia.

 

“Why, there was a chap performing tricks of legerdermain one night, and he took eggs from a high hat, as usual. In his ‘patter’ he interpolated a remark to a wide-eyed small boy who sat down front.

 

“‘Say, sonny, your mother can’t get eggs without hens, can she?’ he said to the kid.

 

“‘Yes, she can,’ replied the boy.

 

“‘How does she do it?’ chuckles³ the conjurer.

 

“‘She keeps ducks,’ says the kid.”

 

“Good! good!” quoth Nat, applauding. “If you hadn’t told it, Ned, I would.”

 

“Ah-ha!” cried Tavia. “You boys have been reading the same joke-book, and have gotten your wires crossed.”

 

“Goodness, Tavia! Don’t. Such slang as you use!”

 

The train was bearing them rapidly and smoothly⁴ toward the West. The girls and Ned and Nat enjoyed this sort of traveling immensely. At the rear of the train was a fine observation platform, and the four young folk got more benefit of the chairs there than any of the travelers.

 

The prospect⁵ in part was lovely. They liked, too, to sit there as the train roared through the smaller towns where there was no stop. And it was nice when they swept over the rolling prairies and crossed the mid-western rivers on the long bridges.

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