A Traveler from Altruria | Page 2

"The porter will get them to the house all right. They'll

be in your room by the time we get there."
"But he's putting them into the wagon himself," said the Altrurian.
"Yes; he always does that. He's a strong young fellow. He'll manage it.
You needn't--" I could not finish saying he need not mind the porter; he
was rushing back to the station, and I had the mortification of seeing
him take an end of each trunk and help the porter toss it into the wagon;
some lighter pieces he put in himself, and he did not stop till all the
baggage the train had left was disposed of.
I stood holding his valise, unable to put it down in my embarrassment
at this eccentric performance, which had been evident not to me alone,
but to all the people who arrived by the train, and all their friends who
came from the hotel to meet them. A number of these passed me on the
tally-ho coach; and a lady, who had got her husband with her for over
Sunday, and was in very good spirits, called gayly down to me: "Your
friend seems fond of exercise!"
"Yes," I answered, dryly; the sparkling repartee which ought to have
come to my help failed to show up. But it was impossible to be vexed
with the Altrurian when he returned to me, unruffled by his bout with
the baggage and serenely smiling.
"Do you know," he said, "I fancied that good fellow was ashamed of
my helping him. I hope it didn't seem a reflection upon him in any way
before your people? I ought to have thought of that."
"I guess we can make it right with him. I dare say he felt more
surprised than disgraced. But we must make haste a little now; your
train was half an hour late, and we shall not stand so good a chance for
supper if we are not there pretty promptly."
"No?" said the Altrurian. "Why?"
"Well," I said, with evasive lightness, "first come, first served, you
know. That's human nature."

"Is it?" he returned, and he looked at me as one does who suspects
another of joking.
"Well, isn't it?" I retorted; but I hurried to add: "Besides, I want to have
time after supper to show you a bit of our landscape. I think you'll
enjoy it." I knew he had arrived in Boston that morning by steamer, and
I now thought it high time to ask him: "Well, what do you think of
America, anyway?" I ought really to have asked him this the moment
he stepped from the train.
"Oh," he said, "I'm intensely interested," and I perceived that he spoke
with a certain reservation. "As the most advanced country of its time,
I've always been very curious to see it."
The last sentence raised my dashed spirits again, and I said, confidently:
"You must find our system of baggage-checks delightful." I said this
because it is one of the first things we brag of to foreigners, and I had
the habit of it. "By-the-way," I ventured to add, "I suppose you meant
to say you brought two checks when I asked you for them at the train
just now? But you really said you bought them."
"Yes," the Altrurian replied, "I gave half a dollar apiece for them at the
station in Boston. I saw other people doing it," he explained, noting my
surprise. "Isn't it the custom?"
"I'm happy to say it isn't yet, on most of our roads. They were tipping
the baggage-man, to make sure that he checked their baggage in time
and put it on the train. I had to do that myself when I came up;
otherwise it might have got along here some time next day. But the
system is perfect."
"The poor man looked quite worn out," said the Altrurian, "and I am
glad I gave him something. He seemed to have several hundred pieces
of baggage to look after, and he wasn't embarrassed like your porter by
my helping him put my trunks into the car. May I confess that the
meanness of the station, its insufficient facilities, its shabby
waiting-rooms, and its whole crowded and confused appearance gave
me rather a bad impression?"

"I know," I had to own, "it's shameful; but you wouldn't have found
another station in the city so bad."
"Ah, then," said the Altrurian, "I suppose this particular road is too
poor to employ more baggage-men or build new stations; they seemed
rather shabby all the way up."
"Well, no," I was obliged to confess, "it's one of the richest roads in the
country. The stock stands at about 180. But I'm really afraid we shall be
late to supper if we don't get on,"