And having tossed a bundle after the old woman, he resumed his seat.
"Confound it!" roared a fat man in a blue spencer. "You're treading on my corns."
"Beg pardon," said the obliging young man. "Bad things, corns,—'trifling sum of misery new added to the foot of your account;' old author—name forgotten. Never mind—drive on!"
"But where's my bundle?" asked the fat man. "Conductor! Where's my bundle? Brown paper—red string. Saw it here a moment since."
The conductor knew nothing about it. The obliging young man did. It was the same he had thrown out after the old woman.
"You'll find it some where," he said, with a consolatory wink. "Can't lose a brown paper bundle. I've tried—often—always turned up; little boy sure to bring it. 'Here's your bundle, sir; ninepence, please.' All right—go ahead!"
Here the obliging young man took his seat beside the pale-faced youth.
"Ill health, sir?"
"No, sir," replied the pale-faced youth, fidgeting.
"Mental malady—eh?"