"Sorry it's that particular, sir. But I've got only what I want."
"Yerkes!" cried Elizabeth Merton, in the background. "Of course the baby must have it. Give it to the gentleman, please, at once."
The stranger removed his hat and stepped into the tiny dining-room where Elizabeth was standing. He was tall and fair-skinned, with a blonde moustache, and very blue eyes. He spoke--for an English ear--with the slight accent which on the Canadian side of the border still proclaims the neighbourhood of the States.
"I am sorry to trouble you, madam," he said, with deference. "But the child seems very weakly, and the mother herself has nothing to give it. It was the conductor of the restaurant car who sent me here."
"We shall be delighted," said Lady Merton, eagerly. "May I come with you, if you are going to take it? Perhaps I could do something for the mother."
The stranger hesitated a moment.
"An emigrant car full of Galicians is rather a rough sort of place--especially at this early hour in the morning. But if you don't mind--"
"I don't mind anything. Yerkes, is that all the milk?".
"All to speak of, my lady," said Yerkes, nimbly retreating to his den.
Elizabeth shook her head as she looked at the milk. But her visitor laughed.