parlor car

Cora slapped her hands on the cushions of the parlor car and said the farm suited her just fine.

They came up, hand in hand, from the other side of the Wabash tracks and scrambled aboard the open platform at the back of the parlor car.

Or is it the soft, steady voice of the stranger in the train’s parlor car, telling a story to the boy’s father?

The parlor car, packed with businessmen behind their newspapers, commuting homeward after their workdays, was electric with Malcolm X’s presence.

I think it is much cheaper to have luncheon served on a table in the parlor car.