Time went on. They had been there on the siding for fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes. Suddenly he was conscious of a low, blurred humming which rose from the main tracks alongside, and a succession of whistle blasts at a great distance broke the monotony. The buzz of the rails grew louder and the whistles shrieked again. His tussle with discomfort was about to begin once more, but he felt infinitely rested and refreshed. He sat up straight and peered down the tracks for the sight of a headlight. “Hullo!” The head and shoulders of a man appeared over the top of the car, followed by a short, wiry body. “What the hell’s this? How’d you get here?” “I’ve got to get to Mississippi City, to-night. I’m from the University up at Athens.” “Don’t care where yer from. This here ain’t no place fer you.” “Say, old man, you’re not goin’ to put me off now, are you?” “H’m.” The man leaned over and inspected him familiarly. “Yeh, you don’t look much like a bum. University up at Athens, eh? I’ve heard some about you God damn loafers, raisin’ hell on trains. Why the Christ can’t you ride in the cars where you belong?” “Didn’t have the price.” “No. An’ you think this railroad’s a charity institootion?” “Say,” pleaded Potter, “honest, this is a life and death matter. It’d be a dirty trick to put a fellow off. Le’ me go the rest of the way, go on.” The brakeman was obviously relenting. He gazed at Potter’s huddled, unhappy looking figure while the passenger train, like a streak of exploding lights on a whirling black band, shot deafeningly by. “How far are we, anyway?” asked Potter. “Must be more than half way.” The brakeman chuckled. “We ain’t even a third of the way yet. Guess you’ve been plenty cold up here.” The first sentence fell heavily upon Potter’s spirits. “Gee, seems longer’n that,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “Got on at Jamestown, did you?” “Yes.” “You got any money?” “A little,” said Potter eagerly. “I’ll give you all I’ve got.” He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew it forth with a collection of small change. “There,” he said, counting it over. “It’s seventy-five cents.” The brakeman took it. “That all you got, honest to God?” “Every cent. I can get more at Mississippi City, though. You going to be there a few hours?” “Huh,” replied the other, “guess you’ll need breakfast by the time you get in. Ain’t much used to this kind o’ business, eh? Well, here’s coffee money.” He handed back a dime. “Have a drink, old man?” asked Potter, almost jovially, pulling out his bottle with a distinct feeling of pride. “Sure.” The man took a long pull at the depleted flask and returned it almost empty.