I need not say that I was
soon removed from the little, beautifully-fitted, drawing-room into
this magnificent car.
In passing through, I heard some growls, in
French, about stopping the train, and sending a car for one "Anglais."
So, on being settled in the new premises, I sent my compliments,
stating that I only required one seat, and that I was certain that the
car was intended for the general convenience, and would they do me the
favour to finish their journey in it? I received very polite replies,
stating that every one was very comfortable where he was. One
Englishman, however, came in to make my acquaintance, but left me soon.
I now became acquainted with Mr. Van Horn's car steward - James French,
or, as his admirers call him, "Jim" - and I certainly wish to express my
gratitude to him for his intelligence, thoughtfulness, admirable
cookery, and general good nature. He took me, a few days later, right
across to the Pacific in this same car, which certainly was a complete
house on wheels - bedroom, "parlour, kitchen and all." His first
practical suggestion was, would I take a little of Mr. Van Horn's "old
Bourbon" whisky? It was "very fine, first rate." On my assenting, he
asked would I take it "straight," as Mr. Van Horn did, or would I have
a little seltzer water? I elected the latter, at the same time
observing, that when I neared the Rocky Mountains perhaps I should have
improved my ways so much that I could take it "straight" also.
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