The military man put his hand in his side pocket, and handed out his ticket without looking up, with the ease and freedom of a well-seasoned traveller. He never took his eyes off his paper.
"Netherby—right, sir!" said Cleg Kelly, ticket collector.
Then Cleg went to the nearest compartment and promptly jumped in. It was half full of sleepy commercial travellers, who took little notice of the curiously attired boy.
Cleg could hear the tramp of his enemy as he came up from routing below the Pullman. It sounded sulkier than ever upon the platform.
"Did not you nab him?" cried the voice of the military man from his carriage window.
"None of your gammon!" replied the other voice. And the whistle sounded promptly.
The temper of Sulky James was distinctly ruffled.
The train ran on down to Netherby. There the tickets were taken at the little platform to which Muckle Alick had so often run, late and early, with lamp in hand. It was a sleepy emergency man from the head offices who took the tickets in Cleg's compartment. He lumped them all together, and paid no attention whatever to the yellow first-class through ticket among its green brethren, which Cleg handed to him with such a natural air of loafish awkwardness.
Clang went the door. But the window was down for air, and Cleg could hear the angry accents of Sulky Jamie further down the train.