His berth felt hard and unnatural.
For a time he lay still with closed eyes, trying to recall what
had happened. There was a blank somewhere, but he could not
find it.
"Funny! This doesn't seem like No. 11. If it is, we must be
going over a pretty rough stretch of road."
He put out both hands cautiously and groped about him.
Phil uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Good gracious, I'm on the floor. I must have fallen out of
bed."
Then he realized that this could not be the case, because there
was a carpet on the floor of No. 11.
This was a hard, rough floor on which he was lying, and the air
was close, very different from that in the well-kept sleeping car
in which he traveled nightly from stand to stand.
In an effort to get to his feet the lad fell back heavily.
His head was swimming dizzily, and how it did ache!
"I wonder what has happened?" Forrest thought out loud. "Maybe I
was struck by a train. No; that couldn't be the case, or I
should not be here. But where am I? I might be in one of
the show cars, but I don't believe there is an empty car on
the train."
As soon as Phil felt himself able to sit up he searched
through his pockets until he found his box of matches, which he
always carried now, as one could not tell at what minute they
might be needed.
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