Journey by James A. Michener Read Free Book Online Page A

cars.
    The saloons were handsomely appointed in heavy dark-red upholstery and spacious let-down beds, but it was the long dining car that gained accolades. The compact galley, big enough for two cooks, was forward to protect the car from intrusions by riders in the lesserseats, but the remainder of the car clear to the rear door consisted of tables handsomely draped in thick linen containing along the edges revealed to the public the carefully embroidered initials C.P.R. Tables on one side of the carpeted aisle seated two, the chairs facing, but somewhat larger tables on the other side were for four, and when Henslow first entered the car his immediate impression was of endless white decorated with sparkling glassware and gleaming silver. “A car for gentlemen,” Luton said as he surveyed the place and waited for the head attendant to show him to a table for four.
    It was a gala meal intended to display the riches of Canada: seafood from the east coast, rich beef from the prairies, fruits and vegetables from Ontario and desserts from French patisseries in Montreal, all served by two professionally gracious white headwaiters assisted by blacks trained to show professional smiles.
    “This is a grand introduction to Canada,” Luton said. “I hope it’s an omen.”
    But as he observed the other diners on this first night of his trip across the continent, he saw so much that perplexed him, so many different styles of dress and speech, that he became bewildered. What troubled him most was the breeziness of the people on the train, their informality, their lack, as he expressed it, “of any clear-cut social structure.” He soon learned that he could not easily determine from what level of society a man came: “They all speak the same, bottom to top, no differentiation at all, except for those who’ve obviously had their education in England.” Men pushed and shoved and paid little deference to those of obviously superior status, and when at Fort William several American travelers boarded the train, even what few proprieties the Canadians did observe seemed to fly out the window.
    “At times,” he told the two young men, “you’d hardly know it was a British colony, everything so jumbled.”
    Philip said he was pretty sure Canada wasn’t a colony any longer: “Didn’t they have a dominion office in London and all that? And their own prime minister?”
    “If it makes them feel good, such concessions do little harm. But when an Englishman travels in India, for example, everything is so clear. There you are, white skin and all, dress easily recognized, officers in spanking new uniforms, women of all ages carrying on the best traditions of the home country. Sharing the place are the Indians. You can’t miss them. Mind you, some of them can buy and sellthe average Englishman, Oxford and all that, and they’ve learned to fit into the finest clubs. But Indians are Indians, and no one ever forgets it, isn’t that right, Harry?”
    Carpenter grunted agreement, then said that when he served in the Punjab on the Afghan frontier there were no finer troops than Probyn’s Horse: “Mostly Indians, and I never fought with better.”
    “But of course they had English officers?”
    “Yes. But I’ll tell you this, Evelyn, if push should come to shove in Europe, and it might, I would expect a Canadian battalion to give a good account of itself, very good indeed.” He was struck by the fact that the average Canadian man they were seeing seemed an inch or two taller than men of similar status would have been in England: “They’re stout chaps, Evelyn, a new type of Empire man,” but Luton thought the Canadian women dowdy and lacking in refinement.
    “Travel by these trains isn’t cheap, I can tell you that,” Luton said, “so we’ve got to suppose we’re seeing the best of the crop. Not too impressive, I’m afraid.”
    He feared that Canada had probably been corrupted by its proximity to the United States, and whenever