“Nose-bleed?” asked Toby smilingly.
The boy shook his head, looking up over the stained handkerchief with an expression of sullen suspicion in his staring brown eyes.
“What’s the trouble then?” Toby took the vacant seat. “Let me have a look, won’t you?”
After a second of hesitation the boy removed the handkerchief, revealing a short but deep cut on his upper lip. It was bleeding profusely. Toby clucked sympathetically. “How’d you get it?” he asked.
“I was getting a drink back there,” muttered the boy, “when the train stopped. It threw me against the arm of a seat, I guess. Anyway, first thing I knew I was on the floor.” His tone was resentful and his look seemed to hold Toby to blame for the accident.
“Too bad,” said the latter kindly. “Got another handkerchief with you?” The boy shook his head. “I’ll lend you one, then. I’ll get it and wash the cut well. You step back to the water tank.”
Toby returned to his seat and dragged his suitcase from the pile. “Fellow’s got a nasty cut on his lip,” he explained. “Fell down when the train slowed up and hit on something.”
“What are you going to do?” inquired Frank. “Operate on him?”
“Find a handkerchief for him.”
“Who is he? One of our chaps?” asked Arnold.