"You young rascals stole this car. Yes, you did. You can't tell me any different." He was with them now; he placed protecting hands on the property of the R. A. & S. Railroad. "If you don't yank it off the track, right on the dot, I'll—"
Bunny's eyes narrowed. His hands, quite without any effort on his part, became fists. But he kept his voice level, though it had what Specs called later "a sort of grindstone sound."
"We are Boy Scouts," explained Bunny, "and we have been given permission to use the car. We stopped because we thought you had the right to tell us to stop; not because we are afraid of you. We are going to Wells Junction, and if you have nothing better to do than call us names, Mister, we'll keep right on going there."
When they talked it over afterward, everybody but Specs agreed that the man changed his style of remarks, not because he was afraid, but because he had begun to understand. However this might be, his next speech was much milder.
"Permission or not, you will have to yank this car off the track; we can talk about it later."
"But why?"
"Why! Because, if you don't, you're going to be smashed into a million pieces. There is a big special coming through any minute. It's on its way. Now, get that hand car off where it won't be responsible for an accident."
Though not trained section hands, the Black Eagles came near making a record in tipping, levering and hoisting the unwieldy hand car to a safe place along the right of way. Once it was safely there, the man in uniform seated himself on it and wiped his forehead.
"I haven't had such a turn since the bad wreck in '96. Why, when I saw you boys going lickety-split along the track, I was ready to curl up and quit. How did you happen to have the car, anyhow?"
As rapidly as possible, Bunny told him the story of the morning's adventures, including the acquisition of the hand car.