Its brass gleaming, its larder bursting and its water tanks brimming, the private Pullman car Roald Amundsen glided softly out of Manhattan one afternoon last month behind the New York Central's westbound Commodore Vanderbilt. Forward in the servants' room were the cook, the waiter and a porter who once polished up the handles on Henry Ford's private car. In the five master bedrooms as the train was speeding through the Mohawk Valley, a number of notable people were getting into their silk brocaded pajamas for the night....
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