When the cream and chocolate Golden Arrow Express glided out of Paris, one noontime last week, a certain smooth-shaven, starched-collared, quietly dressed U. S. passenger passed unnoticed among many another en route to London. As he worked rapidly through a neat sheaf of papers, the traveler looked much like other graduates of Rutgers, other Baptists, other natives of Bloomfield, N. J. His choice of viands at luncheon was to eschew a la carte dishes and accept the table d'hote offered. Fellow passengers continued unconscious that they were actually traveling on the same train...
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