As the train approached Green River, and its copper-basined stream, the engineer began to set the air-brakes for the stop. Jimmie Wellington, boozily half-awake in the smoking room, wanted to know what the name of the station was. Everybody is always eager to oblige a drunken man, so Ashton and Fosdick tried to get a window open to look out. The first one they labored at, they could not budge after a biceps-breaking tug. The second flew up with such ease that they went over backward. Ashton put his head out and announced that the approaching depot was labelled "Green River." Wellington burbled: "What a beautiful name for a shtation." Ashton announced that there was something beautifuller still on the platform--"Oh, a peach!--a nectarine! and she's getting on this train." Even Doctor Temple declared that she was a dear little thing, wasn't she? Wellington pushed him aside, saying: "Stand back, Doc., and let me see; I have a keen sense of beau'ful." "Be careful," cried the doctor, "he'll fall out of the window." "Not out of that window," Ashton sagely observed, seeing the bulk of Wellington. As the train started off again, Little Jimmie distributed alcoholic smiles to the Green Riverers on the platform and called out: "Goo'bye, ever'body. You're all abslootly--ow! ow!" He clapped his hand to his eye and crawled back into the car, groaning with pain. "What's the matter," said Wedgewood. "Got something in your eye?" "No, you blamed fool. I'm trying to look through my thumb." "Poor fellow!" sympathized Doctor Temple, "it's a cinder!" "A cinder! It's at leasht a ton of coal." "I say, old boy, let me have a peek," said Wedgewood, screwing in his monocle and peering into the depths of Wellington's eye. "I can't see a bally thing." "Of course not, with that blinder on," growled the miserable wretch, weeping in spite of himself and rubbing his smarting orb. "Don't rub that eye," Ashton counselled, "rub the other eye." "It's my eye; I'll rub it if I want to. Get me a doctor, somebody. I'm dying." "Here's Doctor Temple," said Ashton, "right on the job." Wellington turned to the old clergyman with pathetic trust, and the deceiver writhed in his disguise. The best he could think of was: "Will somebody lend me a lead pencil?" "What for?" said Wellington, uneasily. "I am going to roll your upper lid up on it," said the Doctor. "Oh, no, you're not," said the patient. "You can roll your own lids!" Then the conductor, still another conductor, wandered on the scene and asked as if it were not a world-important matter: "What's the matter--pick up a cinder?" "Yes. Perhaps you can get it out," the alleged doctor appealed. The conductor nodded: "The best way is this--take hold of the winkers." "The what?" mumbled Wellington. "Grab the winkers of your upper eyelid in your right hand----" "I've got 'em."