The station was not yet open and he strolled back and forth on the platform where a very few people were waiting for the early train--a workman wearing a reefer jacket and carrying a dinner-pail, a little group of girls who worked in the paper mill at Brierly, and a couple of youngish men near the end of the platform. These two were chatting and one of them gave a quick glance at Hervey. It seemed to him that the talk which followed had reference to himself. He wished that the station would open, for it was a raw fall morning; there was a penetrating chill in the air. He wanted to sit down; he was tired of holding that dreadful satchel, yet he would not set it down for so much as a moment. Suddenly, a rattling old car drove up and a brisk young man in an overcoat got out and dragged two huge oilcloth grips to the platform. He looked as if he might be a salesman who had completed his assault on Farrelton. He stopped and lighted a cigarette, and while he was doing this the two men strolled over and spoke to him. He seemed annoyed, then laughed as he took out some papers which the two men examined. Hervey overheard the word _hardware_. And he overheard one of the men say, “K.O., Buddy.” They handed back the papers, nodded sociably, and moved away. It seemed by the most casual impulse that they approached Hervey. But he trembled all over. “You’re out early, kiddo,” said one of them. “Waiting for the train?” Why, oh why, did he flush and stammer and answer without thinking? “No--y-yes--I guess it’s late, hey?” “Guess not,” said the man with a kind of leisurely pleasantry. “What you got in the bag, kiddo?” “Bimbo, do I have to tell _you_?” Hervey demanded with the air of one whose rights are outraged. “Might be just as well,” said the man. “What’s your name anyway?” “My name is Hervey Willetts and you let go of that!” Hervey shouted, tugging at the satchel. “You let go of that, do you hear!” He not only pulled, but he kicked. “You let go of that or you’ll get in trouble, you big----” He was the center of a little group now; it was astonishing what a number of persons were presently on the scene considering the few early morning stragglers. The men put a quick end to Hervey’s ill-considered struggle by taking the satchel while one held him firmly by the collar. There is not a decent person in the world but rebels against this collar grip which seems the very essence of effrontery. Few boys so held will fail to use that potent weapon, the foot, and Hervey, squirming, administered a kick upon his captor’s shin which made the burly fellow wince and swear.