The two figures in the station doorway—Mr. Brill and the agent—were struggling to arise. Jim Nestor, perhaps with a half-formed notion that somebody was trying to rob his friend, made a motion toward his hip pocket, and then thought better of it.
The large lady, casting aside her shawl, made a rush for the two on the floor. Grasping Mr. Hitter by his coattails, she lifted him to his feet with ease—for he was not a large man. Then she assisted Mr. Brill to arise.
“Are you hurt, Harvey?” she cried. “Oh, say you’re not hurt! I couldn’t bear to hear that, and me just finding you! Oh, Harvey, have you lost any money? Are you hurt?”
Mr. Brill pulled himself away. He eyed Mr. Hitter for a moment as though he thought the agent might be responsible, and then he turned his gaze on the large woman.
“No, I’m not hurt,” he said. “I—I’m all right. When is our train due?” he asked of the boys.
“Oh, Harvey, you’re not going away again—after I have just found you; are you?” exclaimed the woman. “Aren’t you coming to live with your dear aunt, and the children and your uncle? Your uncle hasn’t any work now, and I know he’ll be glad to see you.”
“I expect he will,” said Mr. Brill, gloomily; “only he isn’t going to see me. If that train doesn’t come soon, I’m going to walk!” he added, desperately.
“There’s the whistle!” exclaimed Ned.
“But what’s it all about?” asked Jerry.