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Perkins thought I ought to when he set hisself down in my parlah cyar, when his ticket done call for the chair cyar."

Reckon she runs the kitchen all right. Anyways we's got white folks in the parlah, whah they allus orto be white folks." "Well, you ought to thank your friend what is his name Ducherd Decherd? Seems as though I had heard that name, below somewhere." "Yas, Mas' Henry 'Cherd. We does thank him. He sut'nly done fix us all up wid women-folks.

"All you gotta do is to walk right fru ther other cyars, three of 'em, mind you, and you'll find your chair cyar. The idea of you-all getting into a parlah cyar with a chair-cyar ticket." Reassured by the information that it would be unnecessary for him to leave the train in order to reach the proper car, Bob rose from the soft and luxurious seat slowly.

"An' yo' chilluns done got t' keep outen dat parlah when de varnish-paint is dryin'," said Dinah, shaking her finger at the twins. "Ef yo' done walks on de varnished floors when dey's not dry, yo' all will stick fast an' yo' can't get loose." "That's right," laughed the children's mother. "You will have to keep out of the parlor while the floors are drying."

But the hostile look on the porter's face scared him, and he could not help a tremor that crept into his voice as he made his reply. "Whar's yer ticket?" snarled the negro. Reaching into his pocket, Bob drew forth the long strip of paper and presented it to the officious porter. "The ticket's all right," grunted the man. "Now, whar's youah parlah cyar ticket?" "My what?" asked Bob.

"Youah parlah cyar ticket." "That's all the ticket I have," returned Bob. "Isn't that enough? I told the man I wanted a chair-car ticket, and that's what he gave me." "Huh! I thought so. This ain't no chair cyar. This is a parlah cyar. The cyar you-all want is up front, four cyars ahead. Now get out of hyar lively." "But I can't get out while the train's going," protested Bob.