“Yes—I've got the price.” Samuel said this without pride.
“Well, you won't have it long if you live at that rate,” commented the stranger. “Why don't you beat your way?”
“How do you mean?” asked Samuel.
“Nobody but a duffer pays fare,” said the other. “There'll be a freight along pretty soon, and she stops at the water tank just below here. Why don't you jump her?”
Samuel hesitated. “I wouldn't like to do that,” he said.
“Come,” said the other, “sit down.”
And he held out a piece of his toast, which Samuel accepted for politeness' sake. This young fellow had run away from school at the age of thirteen; and he had traveled all over the United States, following the seasons, and living off the country. He was on his way now from a winter's holiday in Mexico. And as Samuel listened to the tale of his adventures, he could not keep the thought from troubling him, how large a part of eighty dollars was six thirty-seven. And all in a single day.
“Come,” said the young fellow; and they started down the track. The freight was whistling for brakes, far up the grade. And Samuel's heart thumped with excitement.
They crouched in the bushes, not far beyond the tank. But the train did not stop for water; it only slowed down for a curve, and it thundered by at what seemed to Samuel an appalling rate of speed. “Jump!” shouted the other, and started to run by the track. He made a leap, and caught, and was whirled on, half visible in a cloud of dust.
Samuel's nerve failed him. He waited, while car after car went by. But then he caught hold of himself. If anyone could do it, so could he. For shame.