Edith Van Dyne 
The Flying Girl and Her Chum 

Perhaps they call them ‘parlor’ cars because they bear so little resemblance to the traditional parlor—a word and a room now sadly out of style. In reality they are ordinary cars with two rows of swivel seats down the center; seats supposed to pivot in every direction unless their action is impeded by the passenger’s hand baggage, which the porter promptly piles around the chairs, leaving one barely room to place his feet and no chance at all to swing the seat. Thus imprisoned, you ride thoughtfully on your way, wondering if the exclusive ‘parlor car’ is really worth the extra fee.