![\"Blog_Pullman_Car\"](\"http:\/\/www.jeshays.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/03\/Blog_Pullman_Car.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\nHalf the car had been arranged almost like a pair of parlor sitting rooms, with large cushioned chairs facing one another and a small table between. I spotted the curtains that would be pulled around to form our \u201cbedrooms.\u201d We even had a sofa large enough for Kye to nearly stretch out on, in the back of the \u201cparlor.\u201d There was a coal-burning stove at one end of the car, which did wonders toward dissipating the damp chill in the air. I left Kye examining the chairs, which would fold out into our beds for the night. The table folded away into the wall as well. Our trunks and dressing cases were settled neatly in the back corner of the car, where we could easily get at whatever outfit we desired. One side of the car was to be mine and my \u201cwife\u2019s,\u201d while Kye would take the other side.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\nThe forward end of the car contained a dining table and chairs. Kye set the picnic basket on the table, with a longing backward glance. We had our own kitchen at this end, with a cook and two waiters.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cOnce we cross the Rocky Mountains,\u201d I told the ladies, \u201cwe will have a dining car on the train, like a moving restaurant.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\nEmily clapped her hands. \u201cI cannot imagine why I have not traveled more, if it is this comfortable.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cHardly as comfortable for the masses,\u201d I replied. \u201cSecond class consists of hard benches arranged in rows. Even the ordinary first class passenger must share a compartment with others.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cI remember the train to San Diego. It was not so bad, sharing a car, and I did not think that there were so many other people.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\nMore than I like on a journey, and I\u2019m a man who enjoys company. \u201cWe weren\u2019t on that train for 10 days, my dear.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\nI also enjoy my privacy when it\u2019s time to retire for the evening, and I like a bit more than just a curtain between me and my fellow passengers. I rang for a porter, gratified at the speed with which the man appeared. We might even have our own porter on this journey.<\/em><\/p>\nThe porter \u2014 they all answered to \u201cGeorge,\u201d after George Pullman, who invented the cars in which we rode \u2014 was a tall, thin, black fellow in a spotless white uniform. He flashed a grin at the coin I slipped into his palm, and brought a nice bottle of brandy and a box of cigars. The smoking car, he informed me, was only two cars in front of us, just past the first class compartments. Kye and I would be spending a good bit of time there, or on the platform at the rear of our car.<\/em><\/p>\nBarbara had been busy unpacking all the things that a lady needs to entertain herself: a selection of magazines, a basket of sewing, a writing kit, and even a sketching book. The car looked practically like a real parlor. I poured a brandy and took a seat opposite Emily\u2019s. Kye and Barbara would have the chairs beside ours, at the opposite windows, until it was time to retire. Then, Barbara would remove herself to the servant\u2019s area beside the kitchen, where she had a small but comfortable-looking compartment.<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cWe shall all have excellent views,\u201d Barbara said now, watching out her window as the baggage handlers hurried about, loading the baggage car. She had set a canvas bag at her side, most likely containing an assortment of the lurid dime novels she read. If Barbara Myers had been born a man, she would likely have been an even more flamboyant outlaw than yours truly.<\/em><\/p>\nEmily prowled the car with Kye, poking her nose into all of the ingenious contraptions that made a railroad car into a living space. She and Kye exclaimed over the lamps, set in such fashion that they swayed with the motion of the rail and remained upright, rather than pitching from side to side. I busied myself watching the passengers now boarding.<\/em><\/p>\nThere were the usual assortment of Traveling Salesmen, of course, weary-looking men clutching their sample cases. They spent much of their lives on the road, and thought of the hours ahead as something to be endured rather than enjoyed. They\u2019d probably be good for a card game when the ride grew too boring. I spotted a couple of Young Families, the wives herding their offspring onto the car, or sending an older child scampering after a straying younger brother or sister.\u00a0 An Elderly Widow ascended to first class, followed by her sour-looking maid. I felt sorry for whoever sat next to that pair.<\/em><\/p>\nA few last-minute arrivals bustled over, and were hurried on board. With a whoosh of steam and a series of great jerks, the double engines pulled us away from the station. A cloud of cinders flew past the windows, sparkling in the gloom, and the scent of wood smoke stung my nose. That ash would get everywhere if we opened the windows or left the car. Our clothing would require a good cleaning once we reached our destination. I had to remember that it was small price to pay for such a speedy journey. After all, it had taken our grandparents months to travel across the country. Just because I\u2019d prefer to be relaxing within my own drawing room was no reason to disparage the wonders of modern technology<\/em>.<\/p>\n