“Hello! Good Lord, Fred, what are you doing down here this time of night? I thought you fellows had a game on every Sunday. I was just wishing I had enough boodle ahead to lay over and walk away with some Stafford coin. I want to get even for the last hold-up you blacklegs gave me.” “I'm dead broke, Jack, old man,” Walton said, avoiding the eyes of his friend. “I want to get to Atlanta before the morning train, and I wondered--” “If I'd take you? Of course I will. I'm sorry to hear you are broke, though, for we might pass the time with a game. It's down-grade,” he laughed, impulsively; “we might turn old No. 12 over to the fireman, and get the engineer and brakeman to come in and try a round.” “I wouldn't trust myself with three railroad men,” Walton tried to jest, “even if I hadn't sworn off.” “What! again? Oh, that _is_ a joke!” Thomas laughed. “You Stafford chaps say you swear off, then practice night and day, and stick it to the first galoot that comes along. Oh, I am on!” There was a sound of rushing water from the tank ahead. In the dim light in the locomotive they could see the fireman on the tender astride of the swinging pipe. “I'm glad you will take me along, Jack,” Walton replied. “I want to get to Atlanta, and haven't a cent on earth. The truth is, I am in bad shape.” “I've heard you sing that song before,” the conductor replied, with an incredulous smile. He raised his lantern till the yellow light fell on Walton's face, and he stared in astonishment. “Why, really, you _do_ look kind o' bunged up. What's the matter, old chap?” “I'm simply down and out, Jack, that's the sum and substance of it. I am down and out. When do you start?” “In a minute. I've got to run clean round the train and examine my door-seals. Climb in. I'll swing on as we leave the yard. Make yourself comfortable. Huh! you are done for, eh? That _is_ a joke!” Climbing the iron step, Walton found himself in the caboose. It was dimly lighted by a lamp in a curved tin holder on the wall over a crude desk with pigeonholes. Here the conductor kept a pencil tied to a string, and some yellow blanks for reports and telegrams. There was a hard, smooth, backless bench near the door, and a narrow cot with wooden sides and ends. On an inverted box stood a tin pitcher, a wash-basin, and a cake of coarse yellow soap. On a hook hung a soiled towel; a pair of blue overalls, a white shirt, and a tattered raincoat were suspended at the sport of the wind and motion of the car on other hooks along the wall.