His manner was such that the man soon saw the boy did not care to talk about his affairs, and, being a keen observer, too much so for Roy's good, as we shall soon see, the man did not pursue his questioning on those lines.

"Fine scenery," he remarked. "Good, open country around here."

Roy felt that was a safe enough subject to talk about, and he and the man, who introduced himself as Mr. Phelan Baker, spent some time in conversation.

Roy, however, was continually wondering what he should do when the announcement was made that dinner was to be served. He did not want to make any mistakes, and have the car full of pa.s.sengers laugh at him, yet he did not know what was proper to do under the circ.u.mstances.

He had neglected to Inquire how they served meals on trains, and, in fact, had he done so, no one at the ranch could have told him, as not even Mr. Bradner had traveled enough to make it necessary to eat in a dining car.

"If I was back at the ranch I'd know what to do when I heard the grub-call," thought Roy. "But this thing has got me puzzled. It sure has. I wonder if they bring you in sandwiches and coffee, as they did to a party I went to? Or do you have to go up and help yourself? I don't see how they cook anything on a train going as fast as this one.

They must have to eat cold victuals. Well, I guess I can stand it for a few days, I've eaten cold bacon and bread when on a round-up, and I'm not going to hold back now. Guess I'll just do as the rest do."

A little while after this a colored man, in a spotless white suit, pa.s.sed through the parlor car, calling out:

"Dinner is now being served in the dining car. First call for dinner!"

"Well, it's up to me to go to grub now," thought Roy. "I wonder how I'll make out?"

CHAPTER V

A QUEER BED

"Are you going to eat on the first call?" asked Mr. Baker, rising from his comfortable chair and looking at Roy.

"I don't know--I think--Yes, I guess I will."

It suddenly occurred to the boy that he might take advantage of the acquaintance he had formed with the man, and observe just how he ought to conduct himself in the dining car.

"I shall be glad of your company," spoke Mr. Baker, with a pleasant smile. "Will you sit at my table?"

"I'm not so very hungry," remarked Roy, thinking that if he found things too strange he could call for something simple, though the truth was he had an excellent appet.i.te.

"I am not either," declared Mr. Baker. "I never eat much while traveling, but I think it best to have my meals regularly. Now, if you'll come with me, we'll see what they have at this traveling hotel."

He led the way from the parlor to the dining car. If Roy had been astonished at the magnificence of the first coach he was doubly so at the scene which now met his eyes.

Arranged along both sides of the dining car, next to the broad, high windows, were small tables, sparkling with cut-gla.s.s and silver. In the center of each table was a small pot of graceful ferns, while throughout the car there were fine hangings, beautifully inlaid wood, and on the floor a soft carpet. It was, indeed, a fine traveling hotel.

At the tables, not all of which were occupied, were seated beautiful women, some handsomely gowned, and there were men, attired in the height of fashion. For the first time Roy felt rather ashamed of his ordinary "store" clothes, which were neither properly cut, nor of good material.

"Here is a good table," said Mr. Baker, indicating one about the center of the car.

Roy took his seat opposite his new acquaintance, a queer feeling of nervousness overcoming him.

"I'd rather ride a bucking bronco any day, than be here," the boy thought. But he was not going to back out now. He knew he had the money to pay for whatever he ordered, and, he reflected that if he was not as stylishly dressed as the others, he was probably more hungry than any of them, for he had an early breakfast.

As soon as Roy and Mr. Baker were seated, a colored waiter glided swiftly to their table and filled their gla.s.ses from a curiously shaped vessel, called a "caraffe," which looked something like a bottle or flask, with a very large body, and a very small neck. Inside was a solid lump of ice, which made the water cold. Roy looked curiously at the piece of frozen crystal. Mr. Baker noted his look of astonishment.

"Don't you like ice water?" he asked.

"Yes, but I was wondering how in the world they ever got that big hunk of ice through the little neck of that bottle."

"Oh," exclaimed Mr. Baker with a laugh, "they first fill the caraffe with water, and then they freeze it in an ice machine they have on the train for keeping the other supplies from spoiling. It would be rather difficult to put that chunk of ice down through that narrow neck."

Roy understood now. He began to think he had lots to learn of the world, but there was more coming. The waiter placed a menu card in front of Mr. Baker, and laid one at Roy's plate. He knew what they were, for he had several times taken dinner at a small hotel at Painted Stone.

He was not prepared however for the queer language in which the menu card or bill of fare was printed. It was French, and the names of the most ordinary dishes were in that foreign tongue.

Roy was puzzled. He wanted a substantial meal, but he did not know how to order it. He was afraid to try to p.r.o.nounce the odd looking words, and I am afraid if he had done so he would have made a mistake, as, indeed, better educated persons than he would have done. He had a wild notion of telling the waiter to bring everything on the bill of fare, but there seemed to be too many dishes.

Finally he decided on a course to pursue. The waiter was standing there, polite and all attention, for, though Roy's clothes did not impress him as indicating a lad of wealth, Mr. Baker's attire was showy enough to allow the colored man to think he might receive a handsome tip.

"I think I'll have a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee," said Roy in desperation. He knew he was safe in ordering that, even if it was not on the card, though it might have been for all he knew, disguised under some odd name.

Mr. Baker looked surprised.

"I should say you hadn't any appet.i.te," he remarked. Then, as he understood the situation, and Roy's embarra.s.sment, he said: "Suppose I order for both of us? I am used to this sort of thing."

Roy was grateful for this delicate way of putting it, and, with a sigh of relief, he replied:

"I wish you would. I guess I've got a good appet.i.te after all."

Thereupon Mr. Baker ordered a simple but substantial meal, including soup, fish, roast beef, potatoes and side dishes of vegetables, ending up with coffee and pie.

"This is fine!" exclaimed Roy, when he had finished. "I s'pose they charge about two dollars for grub like this?"

Several persons in the dining car smiled, for Roy was used to shouting at cattle, and calling to cowboys, and had acquired a habit of speaking in rather loud tones.

"No, this 'grub' will cost you one dollar," said Mr. Baker.

"Well, it's worth it," declared the boy, pulling out quite a roll of bills, for his father had been generous. At the sight of the money a greedy look came into the eyes of Mr. Baker, a look that would have warned Roy had he seen it. But he was busy looking for a one-dollar bill among the fives and tens.

"Now, if you're ready we'll go back to the parlor car, and have a cigar in the smoking room," suggested Mr. Baker.

"No, thank you. Not for mine. I don't smoke."

"Well, it is a useless habit I suppose, but I am too old to change now.

I'll join you presently," and the man went into a small compartment at one end of the parlor car, when they reached it, leaving Roy to go to his chair alone.

Had the boy seen the three men whom Mr. Baker greeted in the smoking room, perhaps our hero would not have been quite so ready to continue his acquaintance with the man. For, in the little apartment were three individuals whose faces did not indicate any too much honesty, and whose clothes were on the same "flashy" order as were Mr. Baker's, though none of the trio had as expensive jewelry as had Roy's new friend.

"Well, sport, how about you?" asked one of the men. "Did you manage to pick up anything?"

"Not so loud, Ike," cautioned Mr. Baker, addressing the man who had spoken, and whose name was Isaac Sutton. "I think I can put you on the track of something."

"Something good?" asked the third man, who was known as Jerome Hynard, though that was not his real name.