"How long shall you stay in Baltimore?" asked the girl with the gray
eyes.
"Yes, indeed!" I answered, still searching for the checks.
"That doesn't make sense," remarked the blue-eyed girl as I found the
checks and handed them to the baggageman. "She asked how long you'd stay
in Baltimore, and you said: 'Yes, indeed.'"
"About a week I meant to say."
"Oh, I don't believe a week will be enough," said Gray-eyes.
"We can't stay longer," I declared. "We must keep pushing on. There are
so many places in the South to see."
"My sister has just been there, and she--"
"Where to?" demanded the insistent baggageman.
"Why, Baltimore, of course," I said. Had he paid attention to our
conversation he might have known.
"You were saying," reminded Violet-eyes, "that your sister--?"
"She just came home from there, and says that--"
"Railroad ticket!" said the baggageman with exaggerated patience.
I began again to feel in various pockets.
"She says," continued Gray-eyes, "that she never met more charming
people or had better things to eat. She loves the southern accent too."
I don't know how the tickets got into my upper right vest pocket; I
never carry tickets there; but that is where I found them.
"Do you like it?" asked the other girl of me.
"Like what?"
"Why, the southern accent.
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