The conductor was growing weaker and weaker: "Well, don't worry. I got him. He's in the baggage car."
Marjorie stared at him unbelievingly. The news seemed too gloriously beautiful to be true. "He isn't dead—Snoozleums is not dead!" she cried, "he lives! He lives! You have saved him." And once more she flung herself upon the conductor. He tried to bat her off like a gnat, and Mallory came to his rescue by dragging her away and shoving her into a chair. But she saw only the noble conductor: "Oh, you dear, good, kind angel. Get him at once."
"He stays in the baggage car," the conductor answered, firmly and as he supposed, finally.
"But Snoozleums doesn't like baggage cars," Marjorie smiled. "He won't ride in one."
"He'll ride in this one or I'll wring his neck."
"You fiend in human flesh!" Marjorie shrank away from him in horror, and he found courage to seize the bell rope and yank it viciously with a sardonic: "Please, may I start this train?"
The whistle tooted faintly. The bell began to hammer, the train to creak and writhe and click. The conductor pulled his cap down hard and started forward. Marjorie seized his sleeve: "Oh, I implore you, don't consign that poor sweet child to the horrid baggage car. If you have a human heart in your breast, hear my prayer."
The conductor surrendered unconditionally: "Oh, Lord, all right, all right. I'll lose my job, but if you'll keep quiet, I'll bring him to you." And he slunk out meekly, followed by the passengers, who were shaking their heads in wonderment at this most amazing feat of this most amazing bride.
When they were alone once more, Marjorie as radiant as April after a storm, turned her sunshiny smile on Mallory:
"Isn't it glorious to have our little Snoozleums alive and well?"