What they had, however, did little more than whet their appetites, and by three o’clock some of the men were talking of carrying the position by storm, helping themselves, and doing a few fancy stunts with Dutchy. “We can’t have any row,” said Thornley, pulling at his mustache and staring at MacDonald. “What had we better do? The boys’ll be pulling the old shack down around his ears. He’ll fight like blazes, and some one’ll get hurt. And then the company’ll want to know what’s what. Say, the old geeser has got us where he wants us, sure--eh, what?” MacDonald nodded. “I’ll tell you what it is,” Thornley went on impressively, “there’s some one besides Dutchy in this. They’ve been giving him a steer, and _I_‘d give a few to know who it is. It’s mighty queer Dutchy would wake up so suddenly to the fact that he was a joke. Then, there isn’t enough to that rebate josh to make him so sore. Some one’s been stringing him good and plenty. What had we better do?” “I don’t know,” MacDonald answered. “Let’s go and see if we can’t talk him over.” At the sight of Thornley and the dispatcher heading for the lunch-room, the trainmen and station-hands fell in behind them. MacDonald halted a few paces from the door. “You boys, stay here,” he directed. “Let me see what I can do.” Thornley and the men halted obediently, while MacDonald went on and knocked at the door. There was no response. “Dut--Mr. Damrosch!” he called. “It’s MacDonald. I want to talk to you.” This time his knock was answered, and so suddenly as to cause him to jump back in surprise. “Veil, vat iss it?” demanded Dutchy, scowling belligerently. “We’re--we’re--” stammered MacDonald, his confidence a little shaken at the proprietor’s attitude. Then, desperately: “Oh, I say, confound it all, Dutchy, we’re hungry.” “So!” Dutchy’s exclamation was a world of innocent astonishment and kindly interest. “Yes,” went on MacDonald, diplomatically. “You bet we are. It’s been a good joke, but you’ve had the best end of it. Let’s call it quits, there’s a good fellow, and--and give us all a handout.” Dutchy listened attentively to the appeal. “I, a fool iss no longer yet, don’d it?” he queried softly. “You most decidedly are not,” MacDonald assured him. “You vill for repates no longer ask, yet?” persisted Mr. Damrosch. “Not on your life!” replied the dispatcher earnestly, beginning to see daylight. “That’s all off. We’ll apologize, too, if you like. I promise you, we are quite willing to apologize.” “Veil, den,” announced Mr. Damrosch, “ve vill aggravate”--and he slammed the door in MacDonald’s face. “Oh, hold on, Dutchy!” cried MacDonald piteously, for he was very hungry. “What did you say?” “Vat I said iss dot ve vill aggravate!” shouted Dutchy from the other side of the door. “Dot iss English, don’d it? Aggravate!” “He means arbitrate,” prompted Thornley from the platform. “Oh, all right!” said MacDonald. “We’ll agree to that, Dutchy. Come on----open up!”