Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 202 The Gentleman Without Glasses

Logan and Mr. Dunbar were playing "Two Sheep and One Pig" for the first time and were instantly captivated by the game.

The two only laughed and put down their cards after Larry kept hinting that he was hungry, and prepared to go to the dining car for a meal.

It was already 1:40 p.m.

Logan had intentionally asked the three of them to go to the dining car later to avoid being stared at by the guests in other private rooms, so he deliberately went to eat later.

But at this moment, Larry was worried about whether the food truck still had any food left, since it was already very late.

The three of them passed through two ordinary private compartments and a first-class carriage before arriving at the dining car.

Compared to the stunning luxury cabin they had just experienced, the dining car on the Pullman luxury train failed to capture the three's attention.

The place resembled a fine restaurant, with tables covered in snow-white linen and adorned with fresh flowers, and the seats were armchairs covered in luxurious velvet.

In addition, the heavy silver cutlery is quite eye-catching, with both the cutlery and plates bearing the Pullman Company logo.

Unlike the restaurant, the windows of the dining car are slightly ajar, about two inches wide, allowing natural breezes from the moving train to blow in and dissipate the rich aromas of the various foods inside.

Of course, the food truck staff was still an all-male team, mainly Black, all dressed in spotless white uniforms, well-trained and respectful and professional.

"Gentlemen, you've arrived a bit late. We may not be able to gather enough food for everyone. Please forgive us."

A white manager met the three men and first apologized.

Logan, without waiting for Larry's instructions, stood boldly in front, pointed at Larry, and said, "Bring whatever's in the VIP box number 6!"

The steward hurriedly instructed the kitchen to prepare the meal, while he personally led the three to sit at the table and called over two black waiters to prepare the meal for them.

Mr. Dunbar waved his hand, letting them do as they pleased. He had been with Larry for a long time and had been to many such upscale restaurants, so he was used to it.

Larry glanced around habitually and saw a middle-aged man who looked to be nearly 40 years old, dressed in a neat and well-fitting business suit and wearing a nice tie. There was also a cup of coffee on the table.

What's very unusual is that this middle-aged man has slightly protruding eyes, a sharp gaze, and wears a pair of light-colored sunglasses.

Larry felt something was off, because this man wasn't the kind of person who was flamboyant and energetic. On the contrary, he was rather refined and gentle, so his sharp eyes didn't seem like a special kind of personal charm, but rather more like a symptom of an illness.

Before long, the Black waiter brought out a full set of luxurious food that came with the private room.

The appetizer was fresh oysters, a symbol of luxury and status on the East Coast at the time, even though the three of them, as native Bostonians, were almost sick of eating them.

Then came a small dish of smoked herring for each person, accompanied by small pieces of buttered toast topped with caviar.

The soup served before the meal was French Parmesan cheese soup.

The main course is grilled red snapper, and three grilled quails per person.

When the food was served, the waiter couldn't help but stare at the three people's "simple" attire, but then he would lower his head without making it seem too deliberate.

Larry looked around and thought to himself that it's always the same: respect the clothes before respecting the person. Without a few nice clothes, even the waiters secretly looked down on him.

"What drinks would you three like? We have wine, champagne, and whiskey!"

As the white manager bowed slightly, he first glanced at the three men's shabby clothes, and then asked a question.

The way he politely but disdainfully treated people was just right, leaving the guests with no way to vent their frustrations.

Larry was a little helpless, but he didn't want to get into a fight with the waiter, so he casually ordered three drinks and started eating by himself.

All three of them were a little hungry, so they didn't say much and just focused on working hard.

After a while, seeing that the three had almost finished eating, the waiter brought over ice cream for the after-dinner meal. This is one of the features of the Pullman suite, which has a refrigerated cabinet.

After the three of them ate their ice cream, they started chatting casually.

The middle-aged man in the distance frowned slightly when he heard them making a fuss.

The man squinted, giving the three of them a sharp look. Then he took off his glasses, picked up a velvet cloth, and began to wipe them carefully.

But the noise from the three of them was not over yet.

"Waiter! The bill!" The middle-aged man showed a slight displeasure on his face, then beckoned the white steward over to settle the bill.

Just as the white manager placed the bill on the table, the middle-aged man was about to take it when he accidentally spilled his coffee.

The middle-aged man hurriedly got up to avoid the coffee cup that had spilled onto the table, but in his haste, he made a mistake. The glasses he had just picked up slipped and were blown out of the train window through the crack...

"Ah! My glasses!" the middle-aged man cried out, craning his neck to look out through the crack in the car window. But how could he possibly find his glasses there?

The commotion caught the attention of Larry and his two companions. They all stopped chatting and looked over, only to see the middle-aged gentleman groaning and lamenting that his glasses had been accidentally thrown outside.

Logan, with a touch of familiarity, stepped forward, inquired about the situation, and then offered words of comfort.

"Sir, this is an accident. You'll have to wait until after the station to get a pair of glasses in the city."

The middle-aged man frowned and sighed, "Well, that's the only way..."

After paying his bill, the man glanced regretfully at the food cart again before picking up his briefcase and groping his way to the private room.

After his interruption, Larry and his two companions lost interest in chatting and got up to head back to their private room.

This time, Logan and Mr. Dunbar did not return to Larry's box, but went to their own regular box, saying they wanted to rest for a while, and also asked Larry to go back to his own box to rest.

Larry nodded and returned alone to his VIP compartment, car number 6.

Larry was taken aback as soon as he opened the door. The man who had lost his glasses was rummaging around in his room.

Larry's hand unconsciously reached for Colt in his arms, and he asked in a cold voice, "What are you doing?"

The middle-aged man paused for a moment, then turned around to look at Larry, but tears were welling up in his eyes as if he were crying silently.

"Why did you enter my private room without knocking?" the middle-aged man asked with a stern face.

Larry paused for two seconds, quickly glanced at the messy playing cards on the velvet sofa, and only after confirming that this was his private room did he speak in a cold voice.

"Excuse me, this is my private room! I haven't even asked why you barged into my room."

The man's face flushed with courage, and he raised his voice to protest, "No, no! This is my private room."

The argument between the two immediately caught the attention of the train conductor and a black waiter in the compartment. The two rushed over and saw Larry standing at the compartment door with a livid face, while the middle-aged man was kneeling on the sofa with tears in his eyes, seemingly searching for something. They were both a little puzzled.

Fortunately, the train conductor immediately recognized the middle-aged man and quickly reminded him, "Mr. Eastman, your compartment is number 8, this is compartment number 6! You've come to the wrong compartment!"

The middle-aged man paused, slowly stood up, took a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully wiped his eyes, squinted at everyone, and then suddenly realized what was happening and said...
"Really? Oh, I'm so sorry..."

However, Larry still didn't believe he had just barged in by chance, and asked coldly, "I just came in and saw you looking for something..."

The man quickly replied, "I'm looking for my spare glasses. I have some eye problems. I couldn't see clearly after I lost my glasses, and my eyes kept watering."

Larry was somewhat skeptical, feeling that this guy might be there to steal something.

Don't assume that everyone who sits in a luxury private room is a good person; there are plenty of people with quirks and who are greedy for small gains.

It wasn't until the train conductor helped Mr. Eastman back to the adjacent compartment number 8 and he retrieved his spare glasses that he returned to Larry and offered a sincere apology.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to barge into your private room. I apologize again for my rudeness.”

Larry saw that Larry's tears had stopped after he put on his sunglasses, and he felt relieved.

“It’s alright, sir. I saw you lose your glasses in the dining car just now!” Larry said generously.

After apologizing repeatedly, Mr. Eastman returned to his private box to rest.

Larry thought to himself that he should take a break. He had finally gotten on this luxury train and he couldn't let the $35 cabin fee go to waste.

Seeing that Larry was about to go back to his room to rest, a black waiter rushed over a few steps ahead, tidied up the playing cards on the sofa for Larry, and then pulled out the sofa, turning it into a soft double bed.

The black waiter was skilled, as if performing magic, and in a few minutes he transformed the sofa into a comfortable bed covered with snow-white sheets.

"Sir, we'll arrive in New York at eight o'clock tonight. I'll come knocking on the door half an hour early and bring you a refreshing coffee!"

Larry nodded and saw the other person off, then locked the door to the private room and took off his coat.

Lying on the soft bed, listening to the rhythmic "clack" of the wheels, Larry's earlier unhappiness and slight tension slowly subsided.

Outside the window are fragmented images of unfamiliar towns flashing by, while inside is an extremely luxurious little world—it's a wonderful feeling!
Larry seemed to be rapidly transported from an old world to a new one, and this journey itself was a ritual of saying goodbye to the past.

Staring at the ceiling, Larry suddenly remembered something: the middle-aged man with the unusual glasses had the surname Eastman? That was quite a unique surname.

I feel like I've heard this somewhere before...

(End of this chapter)