"But—" the Conductor began.
"I won't but," returned the Hippo. "I'm a Hippopotamus, I am. Not a goat. Have you paid your fare?"
"Of course I haven't," returned the Conductor, "because—"
"That's it!" returned the Hippopotamus. "That's the whole point. He's the one that's shy, and because we won't consent to pay his fare out of our own pockets he's going to hold us up. I move we squash him."
"But I say," roared the Conductor.
"Oh, pay your fare and shut up," growled the Polar Bear, "You began the row. What's the use?"
"Hear 'em quoting my poem," whispered the Poker to Tom.
"I've taken his number," said the Flamingo. "It's eight billion and seven. He's trying to beat his way."
"Pay up, pay up," came from all parts of the car, and before he knew it Tom found himself in the midst of an angry group surrounding the Conductor, insisting that he should pay his fare.
"Who are you that you should ride free?" demanded the Flamingo. "The idea of servants of the company having greater privileges than the patrons of the road!"