“Oh, Doro!” she cried, in a horrified tone, “they have him!”
Dorothy turned quickly and saw the brakeman drag the old tramp into the car and fling him into an end seat.
“How rough he is!” gasped Tavia, referring to the railroad employee.
Dorothy darted down the aisle. She would have interfered had the conductor not come at once and taken charge.
“On the step, eh? Well! he took his life in his hands,” grumbled the conductor. “Give him a drink of water, John. I expect he’s famished for it—chewing grit as he has been since we started.”
“Oh! what will you do with him?” cried Dorothy, clutching at the conductor’s sleeve.
“Nothing very bad, little lady,” assured the conductor, smiling at her. “We’ll hand him over to the railroad police at Sessions. They’ll take him to court.”
“Oh! must he be punished?”
“I am afraid so. The company’s pretty strict. He’s been stealing a ride and the magistrate will send him to the rockpile for that.”
“But he’s such an old man—and he’s a soldier,” whispered Dorothy, pointing to the button on the lapel of the old coat.