At the steps of the parlor car Greg halted.
"Are you riding in this car?" he asked.
"Shure," nodded Barney.
"Then I'm sorry," said the young socialist. "I can't ride with you."
In a breath both Mulloy and Gallup demanded to know why.
"Parlor coaches are made for aristocrats," explained Greg. "I'm one of the masses. I'm democratic. I ride with common people in the common coaches."
"Begorra, ye'll roide in this car av we have to kidnap yez!" shouted Mulloy. "Av you're too close-fisted to buy a sate yersilf, Oi'll pay for it!"
This touched Carker's pride.
"You hurt me by such words, Barney," he protested. "Close-fisted! My boy, do you know I've given away nearly all my ready money in the last six months to the needy and suffering? I've seen big, fat-stomached, overfed men lolling in their parlor-car seats while weak invalids, wretched and faint from the strain of trouble, have sat in the common cars. Do you think I could be selfish enough to spend my money for my own comfort and luxury, knowing that such poor people might be suffering on this train?"
"Yer heart's all roight, Greg, ould bhoy," explained Barney; "but ye'll foind thot yer pocketbook isn't big enough to alleviate all th' suffering thot ye'll discover in the world. Come on, Ephraim, we'll put him on this car or l'ave him dead on the platform."