“Well, well, never mind,” said the man with the whiskers, forcibly propelling Kid up the car steps, “you’ll have money enough to get a new ulster. Look here!” He displayed a pile of coins and a few bills in the hollow of the hat. Kid glanced at them but still struggled.
“Please, sir, let me go! I must get them!”
“No, no, my boy, the train will start before you can get half way there. Come inside and we’ll count the collection.” Still protesting, Kid was conducted into the car. The man with the whiskers seated himself with his derby between his knees and other passengers again gathered. Someone donated a felt hat and the bewhiskered man began counting the money from the derby into the felt.
“Three—four—five——”
The train started slowly.
“Six—seven—and two is nine—ten——”
Kid squirmed from the seat and dashed for the door.
“Hey!” cried the bewhiskered man. But Kid was through the open door and on the platform, with the train still running slowly. He pulled his cap down onto his head and—
“Here, what you trying to do? Break your neck?” It was the brakeman, and he had a firm grasp on Kid’s arm.