"No small change, or nothin'?"
"Nary a red."
"Then, passengers," the porter proclaimed, while the robber watched him in amazement; "then, passengers, I want to give you-all fair warnin' heah and now: No tips, no whisk-broom!"
Perhaps because their hearts were already overflowing with distress, the passengers endured this appalling threat without comment, and when there was a commotion at the other end of the line, all eyes rolled that way.
Mr. Baumann was making an effort to take his leave, with great politeness.
"Excoose, pleass. I vant to get by, pleass!"
"Get by!" the other robber gasped. "Why, you——"
"But I'm not a passenger," Mr. Baumann urged, with a confidential smile, "I've been going through the train myself."
"Much obliged! Hand over!" And a rude hand rummaged his pockets. It was a heart-rending sight.
"Oi oi!" he wailed, "don't you allow no courtesies to the profession?" And when the inexorable thief continued to pluck his money, his watch, his scarf-pin, he grew wroth indeed. "Stop, stop, I refuse to pay. I'll go into benkruptcy foist." But still the larceny continued; fingers even lifted three cigars from his pockets, two for himself and a good one for a customer. This loss was grievous, but his wildest protest was: "Oh, here, my frient, you don't vant my business carts."