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    The Sleeping-Car, a farce
    The Sleeping-Car, a farce
    The Sleeping-Car, a farce
    Ebook58 pages40 minutes

    The Sleeping-Car, a farce

    By William Dean Howells

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateApr 1, 2007
    The Sleeping-Car, a farce
    Author

    William Dean Howells

    William Dean Howells was a realist novelist, literary critic, and playwright, nicknamed "The Dean of American Letters". He was particularly known for his tenure as editor of The Atlantic Monthly, as well as for his own prolific writings.

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      Book preview

      The Sleeping-Car, a farce - William Dean Howells

      The Sleeping Car, by William D. Howells

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Sleeping Car, by William D. Howells

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: The Sleeping Car

      A Farce

      Author: William D. Howells

      Release Date: May 13, 2005 [eBook #2506]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLEEPING CAR***

      Transcribed from the 1883 James R. Osgood and Company edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk

      THE SLEEPING CAR—A FARCE

      by William D. Howells

      I.

      SCENE: One side of a sleeping-car on the Boston and Albany Road.  The curtains are drawn before most of the berths; from the hooks and rods hang hats, bonnets, bags, bandboxes, umbrellas, and other travelling gear; on the floor are boots of both sexes, set out for THE PORTER to black.  THE PORTER is making up the beds in the upper and lower berths adjoining the seats on which a young mother, slender and pretty, with a baby asleep on the seat beside her, and a stout old lady, sit confronting each other—MRS. AGNES ROBERTS and her aunt MARY.

      MRS. ROBERTS.  Do you always take down your back hair, aunty?

      AUNT MARY.  No, never, child; at least not since I had such a fright about it once, coming on from New York.  It’s all well enough to take down your back hair if it is yours; but if it isn’t, your head’s the best place for it.  Now, as I buy mine of Madame Pierrot—

      MRS. ROBERTS.  Don’t you wish she wouldn’t advertise it as human hair?  It sounds so pokerish—like human flesh, you know.

      AUNT MARY.  Why, she couldn’t call it inhuman hair, my dear.

      MRS. ROBERTS (thoughtfully).  No—just hair.

      AUNT MARY.  Then people might think it was for mattresses.  But, as I was saying, I took it off that night, and tucked it safely away, as I supposed, in my pocket, and I slept sweetly till about midnight, when I happened to open my eyes, and saw something long and black crawl off my bed and slip under the berth.  Such a shriek as I gave, my dear!  A snake! a snake! oh, a snake! And everybody began talking at once, and some of the gentlemen swearing, and the porter came running with the poker to kill it; and all the while it was that ridiculous switch of mine, that had worked out of my pocket.  And glad enough I was to grab it up before anybody saw it, and say I must have been dreaming.

      MRS. ROBERTS.  Why, aunty, how funny!  How could you suppose a serpent could get on board a sleeping-car, of all places in the world!

      AUNT MARY.  That was the perfect absurdity of it.

      THE PORTER.  Berths ready now, ladies.

      MRS. ROBERTS (to THE PORTER, who walks away to the end of the car, and sits down near the door).  Oh, thank you.  Aunty, do you feel nervous the least bit?

      AUNT MARY.  Nervous?  No.  Why?

      MRS. ROBERTS.  Well, I don’t know.  I suppose I’ve been worked up a little about meeting Willis, and wondering how he’ll look, and all.  We can’t know each other, of course.  It doesn’t stand to

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