In reality, Jimmy Wren meant his oaths to apply liberally to himself; his folly was magnified in his own eyes. There was no telling how much harm his intimacy with Mrs. Fowler had done Armstrong's cause in the past few weeks; and now that he had to sit here inactively and think about it, he was tormented anew. Again, that glimpse of Pete Slosson revived in his mind the memory of how he had looked from the window to see Slosson bring Mrs. Fowler home. All tenderness and fond imaginings had been ripped out of Wren's soul at one quick wrench, yet the hurt was there. Unable to vent his anger on the lady in the case, he scowled blackly at thought of Slosson's vaguely-guessed hand in all this game, and cursed himself for a fool. Jimmy tossed away his cigar and produced another one. As he was lighting it within cupped hands, the car door opened and another man came out beneath the dome light of the observation platform. In no mood for conversation, Jimmy Wren did not glance at him. "Hell of a conductor on this train!" said the other, with voice uplifted above the roar. "Hell of a conductor, that's all I've got to say! Idea of tellin' me to go to bed an' behave myself!" Jimmy Wren looked up. Slosson stood there, swaying unsteadily to the swinging lurch of the train, trying to extract his flask from his hip-pocket. As he labored, Slosson looked down at Wren, but entirely without recognition. The absence of Wren's usual glasses, and the light from directly above, combined with Slosson's befogged condition to render him entirely oblivious of the identity of the person whom he now addressed. "Ain't that the limit, I'm asking you? What right's a conductor got to put passenger out o' the club car, eh? I've paid my fare and I'm 'titled to ride where I like. You see what happens when I write in to the company about this, that's all! Here, have a li'l drink? Don't be 'fraid; no white mule in this, brother." "To hell with you," snapped Jimmy Wren, and turned his shoulder to the intruder. He saw that he was unrecognized, and was glad of the fact. None the less, his temper was hot and at the surface. Slosson uttered a propitiatory laugh. "Oh, it's all right! Bonded stuff, I'm tellin' you, brother! Go far's you like; more where this comes from. Can't fool me on liquor, you bet! Here, take a li'l sample, just to prove you'n me--" He thrust the flask under Wren's nose. Irritated beyond endurance, Wren angrily struck it aside; there came a shivering crash of glass and an odor of raw whisky as the flask shivered on the brass guard-rail. "Hey!" cried Slosson's indignant voice. "Now look what you've done! What's matter with you, eh?" His hand clamped down suddenly on Wren's shoulder. Wren took the cigar from his mouth and shoved the glowing end into Slosson's hand. "Get to hell out of here," he snarled.