“Pass me kind regards to His Excellency and give him my regrets that I jolted his nervous system. He is a fine old gentleman.” The shipmaster hastened on foot to the railroad station, where Johnny Kent was patiently and peacefully awaiting orders. The red-haired sailor was sitting on a baggage truck and munching peanuts. At sight of O’Shea he grinned in recognition and waved a greeting hand. The engineer was eager for tidings, but a train was almost due and he was briefly assured: “’Tis a bugaboo tale, Johnny, and we will digest it at our leisure. And how has Bill behaved himself?” “As good as gold, Cap’n Mike. But there’s something goin’ on inside him. His eye looks brighter and he has mumbled to himself several times. I dunno whether he’s primin’ himself for another explosion or kind of rememberin’ himself in spots. Anyhow, he has symptoms.” “We will steer him home as soon as we can, Johnny. He has enjoyed an exciting afternoon.” The locomotive whistled and a few minutes later they filed into the smoking-car. O’Shea fished out a black cigar and his comrade rammed a charge of cut plug into his old clay pipe. No sooner had they lighted matches than their irresponsible protégé reached over and snatched them away. Instead of trying to set fire to the car or to the abundant whiskers of the old gentleman across the aisle he flung the matches on the floor and stamped them with his heel. His guardians regarded him with puzzled surprise, and were not quick enough to restrain him before he surged among the passengers and plucked from their faces every lighted cigar, cigarette, and pipe. These he rudely made way with by grinding them under his feet or tossing them through the windows. The persons thus outraged were for assaulting him until they perceived the width of his shoulders, the depth of his chest, and the color of his hair. The shipmaster and the engineer tackled him like a brace of foot-ball players, yanked him back to his seat, and calmed the ruffled travellers with explanations and offers to pay damages. The blue eye of Bill Maguire was alertly roving to detect the first sign of smoke, and during the remainder of his journey no one dared to burn the hazy incense of tobacco. “You’re a great man for theories, Cap’n Mike,” quoth the bewildered engineer. “Can you figger what’s happened to Bill?” “I am on a lee shore this time, Johnny. I would call him a firebug no longer. He has turned himself into a fire department.”