“No. An’ you think this railroad’s a charity institootion?”
“Say,” pleaded Potter, “honest, this is a life and death matter. It’d be a dirty trick to put a fellow off. Le’ me go the rest of the way, go on.”
The brakeman was obviously relenting. He gazed at Potter’s huddled, unhappy looking figure while the passenger train, like a streak of exploding lights on a whirling black band, shot deafeningly by.
“How far are we, anyway?” asked Potter. “Must be more than half way.”
The brakeman chuckled.
“We ain’t even a third of the way yet. Guess you’ve been plenty cold up here.”
The first sentence fell heavily upon Potter’s spirits.
“Gee, seems longer’n that,” he said, as casually as he could manage.
“Got on at Jamestown, did you?”
“Yes.”