The natural result of this indulgence was that he soon fell asleep, and even the rumbling of the trains as they passed failed to awaken him, until after some time, when he became aware of a tugging and pulling at his coat.
Opening his eyes, he saw crouching by his side about as villainous a looking tramp as one would care to meet.
"What are you up to?" Jet cried angrily, as he attempted to rise to his feet, but was prevented by the man, who threw one arm around the boy's body.
"Lay still, sonny, an' nobody shan't hurt you."
"Take your hand out of my pocket!" and Jet cautiously drew up his legs ready for a sudden dash.
"Now don't get into a fidget; I'm only tryin' to find out if you've got a license to travel over this 'ere road."
The fellow was now doing his utmost to get at the contents of his prisoner's pockets, and although the special one on which he was working contained nothing of value, Jet did not intend to submit to the indignity.
He had drawn his feet up as far as possible, and was ready for the struggle.
Striking the man a blow in the eye with his disengaged hand, he kicked upward an instant later, hitting the tramp fairly on the back of the head as he involuntarily sprang backwards from the effects of the pain.
This vigorous treatment sufficed to break the hold, and Jet sprang to his feet just in time to avoid a vicious blow.