The old gentleman across the aisle from her, however, seemed dazed. He still sat on the floor of the car, with the water from the cup Andy had carried trickling down his face, and in one hand held his wig, which had slid off his shiny, bald pate. He was contemplating the mass of hair as if wondering whose it was, and where he had seen it before. Then he caught sight of Andy and a flood of red surged into his face.
"Here, you!" he called. "Help me up. You're responsible for this."
"Me responsible?" queried Andy in surprise.
"Yes. You were passing me with that cup of water when everything went to smash. Why did you do it? Answer me. I demand to know."
"Well," said Andy slowly, "I did spill the water on you—but I couldn't help it. The train stopped too suddenly. But I can't see how you make it out that I caused the wreck."
"Wreck? Is it a wreck? Oh, don't say that, young man!" pleaded the man, now taking a different tack. "I've always been in fear of a wreck. It can't be possible I'm in one now."
"Well, you're in one now, all right," went on the younger Racer lad; "though how bad it is I can't tell. Certainly this car didn't sustain much damage. I'm glad we took a parlor coach," he added to Billy. "They're heavier, and stand shocks better."
"That's right," agreed the Western lad.
"Oh dear me! A wreck!" exclaimed the old man. "Oh, will no one help me up. I—er—Oh, I beg your pardon, madam!" he said hastily, as he saw the maiden lady looking at him. "I do beg your pardon. Just one moment," and then hastily turning his back toward her he adjusted his wig on his bald head, and tried to get to his feet.
"We'll help you," said Andy, forgetting all about the changed valises.