Sweeping past, in the cab of the locomotive, the engineer leaned out and shook his fist at the tramp.
“You ought to be locked up!” he yelled, with savage energy. Then, lest he might not seem to appreciate Joe’s action in saving the man’s life and preventing a lot of trouble for the railroad authorities, the engineer added:
“Much obliged to you, young fellow. You saved us a bad mess. Better turn that hobo over to one of the yard detectives. He’ll take care of him, all right.”
“No, I’ll get him off the tracks and start him home, if I can,” answered Joe, but it is doubtful if the engineer heard.
“You had a close call, old man,” went on Joe, as he helped the tramp to stand upright. “Better get off the railroad. Where do you want to go?”
“Hey?”
“I ask you where you want to go. I’ll give you a hand, if it isn’t too far. It’s dangerous here—for a man in your—condition.”
“Uh! Don’t make no difference where I go, I reckon,” replied the man, thickly. “No difference at all. I’m down and out, an’ one place’s good’s nuther. Down—an’—out!”
“Oh, well, maybe you can come back,” said Joe, as cheerfully as he could. “Don’t give up.”
“Come back! Huh! Guess you don’t know the game. Fellers like me never come back. Say, bo, you’ve got quite an arm on you,” he said admiringly, as he noted the ease with which the young pitcher helped him over the tracks. The unfortunate man could hardly help himself. “You’ve got an arm—all right.”