“Which one?”
The questioner’s gaze changed somewhat; by various complicated twitches he slowly worked the blankness out of his face and replaced it by an attempt at a smile; then he slowly extended a long arm over the back of the seat, and unfolded a massive forefinger, which he thrust violently into the region of Phil’s vest-pocket as with a leer he exclaimed,—
“Kee!”
“Don’t be a jackass!” exclaimed Phil, frowning angrily at the fellow. Instead of being abashed, the boor seemed highly delighted, and exclaimed, in somewhat the accent of the animal Phil had named,—
“Haw, haw, haw! Give ye the mitten, did she?”
“It’ll be time for any girl to give me the mitten when I give her the chance, Mr. Bloke,” said Phil, picking up his bag and starting toward another seat.
“Oh, set down; I didn’t think ye was the kind o’ feller to go an’ git mad at an old neighbor that’s only showin’ a friendly interest in ye,” said the man, in tones of reproach. “Set down. Why, I hain’t asked ye half what I want to; you’ve gone an’ put a lot of it out of my head, too, by flyin’ off of the handle in that way.”
“Haynton!” shouted the conductor, as the train stopped with a crash. Phil hastily rose; so did his tormentor, whose face was an absolute agony of appeal as he said,—
“Lemme help ye up to the house with yer bag. I jist remembered that Naomi has been at me for a week to ask your mother somethin’ when I druv by. Might ez well do it to-night as any time: then I can give ye a friendly lift.”
“I’m not going to walk out home,” said Phil, hastily, “if I can——”