“I think I also had better arise,” reflected Loring. He watched the porter until the latter was at the far end of the car, then dropping his feet over the edge of the berth he slid out onto the swaying floor, almost into the arms of the amazed Pullman conductor, who at that instant had entered the car. “Where did you get on?” gasped the brass-buttoned official. “I didn’t know that there was an ‘upper’ taken in this car.” “At Los Andes,” answered Stephen, “I was rather tired, so I thought I would not bother you at the time.” The conductor looked hard at Stephen, and took in at a glance his ragged clothes, dirty shoes, and flannel shirt; then he grinned. “That was mighty considerate of you, stranger; now let’s have your ticket. We have almost reached our next stop.” Stephen pretended to feel in his pockets, though he well knew that it was useless. The other people in the train were beginning to stare. “To be put off a train would be far pleasanter in imagination than in reality,” flashed across Stephen’s mind. “Hurry up, now,” repeated the conductor. “Where is your ticket?” “I haven’t any,” Loring blurted out. “Come on, now, no nonsense! fork up!” insisted the conductor. “I would gladly, if I had any money,” rejoined Stephen, then with seeming irrelevancy, he added: “How far is it from here to the ‘City’?” “It is about seven hundred miles,” answered the conductor, “but I am sure you will find it a delightful walk.” “Last call for breakfast in the dining-car. Last call,” again echoed through the car. “Better hurry, sir,” said the porter, not realizing the situation, as he passed Stephen. “Thank you,” said Loring, with a grim smile. “But I think I will refrain from eating this morning.” A rather heavy faced man, who was sitting near by, laughed audibly. Stephen became the center of interest for the passengers. For them, the little scene was a perfect bonanza, serving to break the monotony of the trip. Loring was conscious of the stare of many eyes, about as effectually concealed behind books and magazines as is an ostrich with its head in the sand. “Come out into the vestibule with me!” said the conductor, rather gruffly. Stephen followed him in silence. When they were on the platform, the conductor turned and looked at him squarely. Loring noticed that there could be kind lines about the close-set jaw. “See here,” began the former, “you don’t look to me like a man who is often working this sort of game. I guess you must be sort of up against it, ain’t you?” Stephen bowed his head slowly, in non-committal agreement. “Now I don’t like to see a man down and out,” went on the conductor, “unless he is the kind that deserves to be, and you ain’t. Besides, you’re from the States like I am, and so, though I’d lose my job if it were found out, the company is going to set you up to this ride free.” Stephen’s face lighted with gratitude, as he grasped the man’s hand, and thanked him.