CHAPTER I.

There were three of them, all of shining black leather:  one on top of the pile of trunks; one on the ground; one in the owner’s hand;—­all going to Philadelphia; all waiting to be checked.

The last bell rang.  The baggageman bustled, fuming, from one pile of baggage to another, dispensing chalk to the trunks, checks to the passengers, and curses to the porters, in approved railway style.

‘Mine!—­Philadelphia!’ cried a stout, military-looking man, with enormous whiskers and a red face, crowding forward, as the baggageman laid his hand on the first bag.

‘Won’t you please to give me a check for this, now?’ entreated a pale, slender, carefully-dressed young man, for the ninth time, holding out bag No. 2.  ‘I have a lady to look after.’

‘Say! be you agoin’ to give me a check for that ‘are, or not?’ growled the proprietor of bag No. 3, a short, pockmarked fellow, in a shabby overcoat.

‘All right, gen’l’men.  Here you are,’ says the functionary, rapidly distributing the three checks.  ’Philadelfy, this?  Yes, sir,—­1092—­1740.11—­1020.  All right.’

‘All aboard!’ shouted the conductor.

‘Whoo-whew!’ responded the locomotive; and the train moved slowly out of the station-house.

The baggageman meditatively watched it, as it sped away in the distance, and then, as if a thought suddenly struck him, slapping his thigh, he exclaimed,

‘Blest if I don’t believe—­’

‘What?’ inquired the switchman.

’That I’ve gone and guv them three last fellers the wrong checks!  The cussed little black things was all alike, and they bothered me.’

‘Telegraph,’ suggested the switchman.

‘Never you mind,’ replied the baggageman.  ’They was all going to Philadelfy.  They’ll find it out when they get there.’

They did.

* * * * *

CHAPTER II.

The scene shifts to the Continental Hotel, Philadelphia.—­Front parlor, up stairs.—­Occupants, the young gentleman alluded to in Chapter I., and a young lady.  In accordance with the fast usages of the times, the twain had been made one in holy matrimony at 7.30 A.M.; duly kissed and congratulated till 8.15; put aboard the express train at 8.45, and deposited at the Continental, bag and baggage, by 12.58.

They were seated on the sofa, the black broadcloth coat-sleeve encircling the slender waist of the gray traveling-dress, and the jetty moustache in equally affectionate proximity to the glossy curls.

‘Are you tired, dearest?’

‘No, love, not much.  But you are, arn’t you?’

‘No, darling.’

Kiss, and a pause.

‘Don’t it seem funny?’ said the lady.

‘What, love?’

‘That we should be married.’

‘Yes, darling.’