Midnight
At intervals , a brakeman or the passenger conductor pushed down the aisle , between the curtains , his red and white lamp over his arm . Looking out into the car Annixter saw in an end section where the berths had not been made up , the porter , in his white duck coat , dozing , his mouth wide open , his head on his shoulder . The hours passed . Midnight came and went . Annixter , checking off the stations , noted their passage of Modesto , Merced , and Madeira . Then , after another broken nap , he lost count . He wondered where they were .