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the envelope tight； until it pleated a little in her hold。 She moved more briskly than she had until now。 She took it over with her to the middle of the room； beside the bed； where the light shone more fully。
She stood still there and looked at it again； as though she were a little afraid of it。 There was a sort of burning eagerness in her face； not joyous； but rather of desperate urgency。
She ripped hastily at the flap of it； with upward swoops of her hand； as though she were taking long stitches in it with invisible needle and thread。
Her hand plunged in； to pull out what it said； to read what it told her。 For envelopes carry words that tell you things； that's what envelopes are for。
Her hand came out again empty； frustrated。 She turned the envelope over and shook it out； to free what it must hold； what must have stubbornly resisted her fingers the first time。
No words came； no writing。
Two things fell out； onto the bed。 Only two things。
One was a five…dollar bill。 Just an impersonal； anonymous five…dollar bill； with Lincoln's picture on it。 And over to the side of that； the neat little cachet they all bear； in small…size capitals： 〃This certificate is legal tender for all debts public and private。〃 For all debts； public and private。 How could the engraver guess that that might break somebody's heart； some day； somewhere？
And the second thing was a strip of railroad…tickets； running consecutively from starting…point to terminus； as railroad tickets do。 Each coupon to be detached progressively en route。 The first coupon was inscribed 〃New York〃； here； where she was now。 And the last was inscribed 〃San Francisco〃； where she'd e from； a hundred years ago…last spring。
There was no return…ticket。 It was for a one…way trip。 There and…to stay。
So the envelope had spoken to her after all； though it had no words in it。 Five dollars legal tender； for all debts； public and private。 San Francisco…and no return。
The envelope plummeted to the floor。
She couldn't seem to understand for a long time。 It was as though she'd never seen a five…dollar bill before。 It was as though she'd never seen an accordion…pleated strip of railroad…tickets like that before。 She kept staring down at them。
Then she started to shake a little。 At first without sound。 Her face kept twitching intermittently； up alongside the eyes and down around the corners of the mouth； as if her expression were struggling to burst forth into some kind of fulminating emotion。 For a moment or two it seemed that when it did； it would be weeping。 But it wasn't。
It was laughter。
Her eyes wreathed into oblique slits； and her lips slashed back； and harsh broken sounds came through。 Like rusty laughter。 Like laughter left in the rain too long； that has got all mildewed and spoiled。
She was still laughing when she brought out the battered valise； and placed it atop the bed； and threw the lid back。 She was still laughing when she'd filled it and closed it again。
She never seemed to get through laughing。 Her laughter never stopped。 As at some long…drawn joke； that goes on and on； and is never done with in its telling。
But laughter should be merry； vibrant and alive。
This wasn't。
4
The train had already ticked off fifteen minutes' solid； steady headway； and she hadn't yet found a seat。 The seats were full with holiday crowds and the aisles were full and the very vestibules were full； she'd never seen a train like this before。 She'd been too far behind at the dammed…up barrier； and too slow and awkward with her cumbersome valise； and too late getting on。 Her ticket only allowed her to get aboard； it gave her no priority on any place to sit。
Flagging； wilting； exhausted； she struggled down car…aisle after car…aisle； walking backward against the train…pull； eddying； teetering from side to side； leaden valise pulling her down。
They were all packed with standees； and this was the last one now。 No more cars after this。 She'd been through them all。 No one offered her a seat。 This was a through train； no stops for whole States at a time； and an act of courtesy now would have e too high。 This was no trolley or bus with a few moments' running time。 Once you were gallant and stood； you stood for hundreds and hundreds of miles。
She stopped at last； and stayed where she'd stopped； for sheer inability to turn and go back again to where she'd e from。 No use going any further。 She could see to the end of the car； and there weren't any left。
She let her valise down parallel to the aisle； and tried to seat herself upon its upturned edge as she saw so many others doing。 But she floundered badly for a moment； out of her own topheaviness； and almost tumbled in lowering herself。 Then when she'd succeeded； she let her head settle back against the sideward edge of the seat she was adjacent to； and stayed that way。 Too tired to know； too tired to care； too tired even to close her eyes。
What makes you stop； when you have stopped； just where you have stopped？ What is it； what？ Is it something； or is it nothing？ Why not a yard short； why not a yard more？ Why just there where you are； and nowhere else？
Some say： It's just blind chance； and if you hadn't stopped there； you would have stopped at the next place。 Your story would have been different then。 You weave your own story as you go along。
But others say： You could not have stopped any place else but this even if you had wanted to。 It was decreed； it was ordered； you were meant to stop at this spot and no other。 Your story is there waiting for you； it has been waiting for you there a hundred years； long before you were born； and you cannot change a ma of it。 Everything you do； you have to do。 You are the twig； and the water you float on swept you here。 You are the leaf and the breeze you were borne on blew you here。 This is your story； and you cannot escape it； you are only the player； not the stage manager。 Or so some say。
On the floor before her downcast eyes； just over the rim of the seat…arm； she could see two pairs of shoes uptilted； side by side。 On the inside； toward the window； a diminutive pair of pumps； pert； saucy； without backs； without sides； without toes； in fact with scarcely anything but dagger…like heels and a couple of straps。 And on the outside； the nearer side to her；a pair of man's brogues； looking by parison squat； bulky； and tremendously heavy。 These hung one above the other； from legs coupled at the knee。
She did not see their faces and she did not want to。 She did not want to see anyone's face。 She did not want to see anything。
Nothing happened for a moment。 Then one of the pumps edged slyly over toward one of the brogues； nudged gently into it； as if in a deft little effort to municate something。 The brogue remained oblivious； it didn't get the message。 It got the feeling； but not the intent A large hand came down； and scratched tentatively at the sock just above the brogue； then went up again。
The pump； as if impatient at such obtuseness； repeated the effort。 Only this time it delivered a good sharp dig； with a bite to it； and on the unprotected ankle； above the armorlike brogue。
That got results。 A newspaper rattled somewhere above； as if it had been lowered out of the way； to see what all this unpleasant nipping was about。
A whispered remark was voiced above； spoken too low to be distinguishable by any but the ear for which it was intended。
An interrogative grunt； in masculine timbre； answered it。
Both brogues came down even on the floor； as the legs above uncoupled。 Then they swivelled slightly toward the aisle； as if their owner had turned his upper body to glance that way。
The girl on the valise closed her eyes wearily； to avoid the gaze that she knew must be on her。
When she opened them again； the brogues had e out through the seat…gap； and the wearer was standing full…height in the aisle； on the other side of her。 A good height too； a six…foot height。
〃Take my seat； miss；〃 he invited。 〃Go ahead； take my place for awhile。〃
She tried to demur with a faint smile and a halfhearted shake of the head。 But the velour back lopked awfully good。
The girl who had remained in it added her insistence to his。 〃Go ahead； honey； take it；〃 she urged。 〃He wants you to。 We want you to。 You can't stay out there like that； where you are。〃
The velour back looked awfully good。 She couldn't take her eyes off it。 But she was almost too tired to stand up and effect the change。 He had to reach down and take her by the arm and help her rise from the valise and shift over。
Her eyes closed again for a moment； in ineffable bliss； as she sank back。
〃There you are；〃 he said heartily。 〃Isn't that better？〃
And the girl beside her； her new seat…mate； said： 〃Why； you are tired。 I never saw anyone so all…in。〃
She smiled her thanks； and still tried to protest a little； though the act had already been pleted； but they both overrode her remonstrances。
She looked at the two of them。 Now she at least wanted to see their two faces； if no others； though only a few moments ago she hadn't wanted to see any faces； anywhere； ever again。 But kindness is a form of restorative。
They were both young。 Well； she was too。 But they were both happ