They shook hands with the good-natured man and scurried aboard the cars. As they found a seat on the side away from the station, Dorothy clutched Tavia’s arm.
“Look at that man, Tavia!” she whispered, pointing through the window.
The person to whom Dorothy drew her chum’s attention was stealing out of the bushes beside the tracks. He was a gray-haired man, with a Grand Army hat, although the head-covering was battered and torn. He wore a ragged blue coat, too, and Dorothy had identified the button he wore on the lapel of the disreputable coat.
He was an unshaven and altogether unhappy looking object; but that button assured Major Dale’s bright eyed daughter, that the poor old creature was a Veteran.
“What do you suppose he is doing here?” gasped Dorothy. “Oh! the poor old man!”
The car wheels began to turn again. The train had halted for only a minute. They saw the man hobble across the tracks, and seize the railing as their car passed him. It was plain to the girls that he meant to steal a ride upon the fast train.
“Oh! he’ll be killed,” gasped Dorothy, half rising from her seat.
“Sit down, Doro Dale!” exclaimed Tavia. “If you tell anybody, he’ll be put off.”
Dorothy was greatly troubled. She never saw a Grand Army man without being interested in him. And she had never seen one before who so looked like a tramp.
“That worries me,” said Dorothy Dale, the tears standing in her beautiful eyes. “I fear that poor man will fall off the steps of the car.”