Barclay, sitting back in his chair studying Tilghman, saw him start, lean forward, and look down the car. A newcomer stood just within the entrance surveying the car and its occupants, then moved up the aisle. With a smothered ejaculation, Tilghman sprang into the aisle, hand upraised, only to stumble forward, swaying like a drunken man.
The sound of the scuffle echoed down the car above the noise of the rapidly moving train. In an instant the passengers were on their feet, some intent on reaching the struggling men and others only desirous of obtaining a closer view. But the intervention of the more venturesome was not required, and a second later Barclay was bending over Tilghman, who measured his length in the aisle, while the conductor and several passengers collared his small opponent. A pull at Barclay’s hastily offered flask, and Tilghman somewhat shakily regained his feet, as the Japanese passenger strove to explain the situation to the indignant conductor.
“A meeting, honorable sir, in this just too small space and a loss of balance.” The Japanese with some difficulty kept his footing as the train rounded a sharp curve. Clicking his heels together, with shoulders and elbows drawn back, finger-tips touching, he drew a long hissing breath as he bowed in salutation to the men grouped about him. “Pardon, honorable sirs.”
“How about it, Mr. Tilghman?” demanded the conductor, and all eyes turned toward the disheveled American.
“A little congestion and, eh, hasty action,” he drawled. “The train took a curve on the high, and as I fell I saw our friend here”—indicating the Japanese—“mistook him for a yellow nigger standing in my way and lashed out——”
Barclay looked sharply at the Japanese. Did he understand the insult implied in the apology, or was his knowledge of English too limited? But he learned nothing by his scrutiny, for the parchment-like face was as inscrutable as the Sphinx, and Barclay turned his attention to Tilghman. He had distinctly seen a paper pass between the two men; why then had Tilghman and the Japanese staged the opéra bouffe affair?
The conductor, much perturbed, scratched his head as he gazed at first one man and then another.
“Well, seeing as how you both call it an accident, I reckon there’s nothing more to be said,” he grumbled. “But recollect, gentlemen, this railroad does not permit quarreling.”
The Japanese, bowing gravely to the silent men, departed into the forward Pullman, and the group about Tilghman dispersed. Julian Barclay having resumed his seat and his contemplation of the scenery through the car window, was in the act of lighting a cigarette when he became aware that Dwight Tilghman was standing at his elbow.
“Can I share that flask you offered me when I was lying on the floor?” he inquired. “The fall shook me up more than I realized.”