The snow increased as the train sped on and the darkness
gradually thickened. Uncle Henry took his niece into the dining
car where they had supper, with a black man with shiny eyes and
very white teeth, who seemed always on the broad grin, to wait
upon them. Nan made a mental note to write Bess Harley all about
the meal and the service, for Bess was always interested in
anything that seemed "aristocratic," and to the unsophisticated
girl from Tillbury the style of the dining car seemed really
luxurious.
When the train rolled into the Chicago station it was not yet
late; but it seemed to Nan as though they had ridden miles and
miles, through lighted streets hedged on either side with brick
houses. The snow was still falling, but it looked sooty and gray
here in the city. Nan began to feel some depression, and to
remember more keenly that Momsey and Papa Sherwood were flying
easterly just as fast as an express train could take them.
It was cold, too. A keen, penetrating wind seemed to search
through the streets. Uncle Henry said it came from the lake. He
beckoned to a taxicab driver, and Nan's trunk was found and
strapped upon the roof. Then off they went to the hotel where
Uncle Henry always stopped when he came to Chicago, and where his
own bag was checked.
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