Nevins growled a surly assent, and turning his back ostentatiously, he hung up his coat and flung himself into the chair.
“There are three orders,” added Allan. “One of them—”
“Oh, shut up!” snarled Nevins. “I can read, can’t I?”
“Yes; no doubt you can. But the rules require that I explain outstanding orders to you before I go off duty.”
Nevins looked up at him, an ugly light in his eyes.
“So you’re that kind, are you?” he queried. “Little Sunday-school boy. Ain’t you afraid your mamma’s worryin’ about you?”
“Don’t you want me to—”
“I don’t want you to do nothin’ but get out!” Nevins broke in, and took the orders from the hook and looked over them. “As I said before, I can read. I suppose you can, too. So don’t bother me.”
An angry retort rose to Allan’s lips, but he choked it back; and at that instant a whistle sounded down the line, and the roar of an approaching train. He had just time to grab coat and lunch-basket and swing aboard, and in a moment was off toward Wadsworth.
He sank into a seat, his heart still hot at Nevins’s insolence; and yet, on second thought, he was glad that he had not yielded to the impulse to return an angry answer. It was natural that Nevins should have been provoked, though the delay of the night before was not Allan’s fault in the slightest degree; and, in any event, there was no use making an enemy of a fellow who might be able to do a great deal of mischief. But one thing Allan resolved on, his lips set: he would explain outstanding orders to Nevins, whether the latter chose to listen or not.