"Yes, we know him," she said. "He's a farmer from Hedgeville. And—"
"Hedgeville, eh? What's his name?"
"Weeks—Silas Weeks."
The effect of the name was extraordinary. Conductor and brakeman doubled up with laughter, and for a moment, while the two girls stared, neither of them could speak at all. Then the conductor found his voice.
"Oh, ho-ho," he said, still laughing. "I wouldn't have missed that for a week's pay! If I could only have seen his face! Don't you worry any more! We'll not send you back to him, even if you were running from him. Don't blame anyone for tryin' to get away from that old miser!"
"Wish he'd tried to jump aboard after we started," said Jim, the brakeman. "I'd have kicked him off, and I wouldn't have done it gently, either!"
"We know Silas Weeks," explained the conductor. "He's the worst kicker and trouble maker that ever rode on this division. Every time he's aboard my train he gives us more trouble in one trip than all the other passengers give us in ten. He's always trying to beat his way without payin' fare, and scarcely a time goes by that he don't write to the office about Jim or me."
"Lot of good that does him," said Jim. "They don't pay any attention to him."
"No, not now. They're getting used to him, and they know what sort of a mischief maker he is. But he's a big shipper, an' at first they used to get after me pretty hard when he wrote one of his kicks."
"Before I came on the run, you mean?"