"I suppose we'd better tell the conductor." "Tell the conductor!" said he, wondering. "What on earth for?" "I dunno," says I, some taken back. I suppose I'd had some far notion of telling him because he wore a uniform. "What do we want to tell him for?" this Brother-man repeated. "_We_ know." Oh, but that's come back to me, time and time again, when I've thought I needed help in taking care of somebody, or settling something, or doing the best way for folks. "What do we want to tell the conductor or anybody else for? _We_ know." And ten to one we are the one who can do the thing ourselves. "But what are we going to do?" I said. I think that his eyes were the kind of eyes that just make you say "What are _we_ going to do?" and not "What are _you_ going to do?" or "What are _they_ going to do?"--same as most folks start to say, same as I had started. For the first time the Brother-man looked helpless--but he spoke real firm. "Keep him," he says, simple. "Keep him!" I said over--since I had lived quite a while in a world where those words are not common. He looked down thoughtful at the little chap who was lying there, contented, going here and there with his fists, and looking up at the lights as if he was reflecting over the matter some himself. "The conductor," said the Brother-man, "would telegraph, and most likely find the mother. If he was efficient enough, he might even get her arrested. And what earthly good would that do to the child? Our concern is with this little old man here, with his life hanging on his shoulders waiting to be lived. Isn't it?" he asked, simple. And in a minute, he added: "I always hoped that this would never happen to me--because when it does happen, there's only one thing to do: Keep them." And he added in another minute: "I don't know--I ought to look at it that I've been saved the trouble of going out and finding a way to help--" only you understand, his words came all glossy and real different from mine. I tell you, anybody like that makes all the soul in you get up and recognize itself as _being_ you; and your body and what it wants and what it is afraid of is no more able to run you then than a pinch of dirt would be, sprinkled on your wings. Before I knew it, my body was keeping quiet, like a child that's been brought up well. And my soul was saying whatever it pleased. "I'm a woman," I said, "and alone in the world. I'm the one to take him." "I'm alone in the world too," he said, "and I'm a man. So I'm just as able to care for him as you are. I'll keep him." Then he looked down the car, kind of startled, and began smiling, slow and nice. "On my word," he said, "I'd forgotten that besides being a man I'm about to be a guest. And this little old chap wasn't included in the invitation."