“It couldn't be harder, Jack,” Walton said. “I am at the end of my rope.”
“Well, I am sorry—I'm real sorry,” the conductor declared. “I'll tell you what to do. It's a tough ride to Atlanta, along with our stops and sidings and waits on through trains. There won't be a soul in the bunk to-night. Throw off your things and crawl in.”
“But that's your bed,” Walton protested, thoughtful, even in his misery, of his friend's comfort.
“Not for to-night it isn't,” Thomas affirmed, as he hung up his lantern and drew a stool to the desk. “I've got to be up till daybreak. Crawl in, I tell you!” Walton sat down on the edge of the cot, a trembling hand went to his necktie. In the rays of the yellow light he looked as though he were about to faint.
“Hold on, wait!” Thomas chuckled. “I'll physic you all right.” He raised the top of his desk and drew out a flask of whiskey. “It is actually the smoothest article that ever slid down a human throat,” he laughed, as he shook the flask and extended it to his guest. “Take a pull at it, and you will have dreams of Paradise.”
“I don't care for it right now, Jack,” Walton returned. “I may ask for it later. Whiskey always keeps me awake.”
“Well, I've got to sit up,” the conductor said, “so here's looking at you. I've got the dandiest thirst that mortal ever owned. You've heard about the feller who told the prohibitionist that he didn't want to get rid of his. Well, I'm that way about mine. If a man went round paying for thirsts, he couldn't buy mine for all the money in the State. I've got it trained till it walks a chalk-line. I go without a drink sometimes for days at a time, just so she will get good and ripe and have a sort of clinging rasp on her. But no joking, old man, I don't like your looks. I've seen you kind of blue before, but I never saw you plumb flabbergasted like this. You say you are broke. I don't happen to have anything in my pocket right now, but I reckon I could draw a little pay in advance from our agent in Atlanta, and—”
“I don't want to borrow any money, Jack, thank you just the same,” Walton said. “When I get to Atlanta I'll look around and see what will turn up.” And, stifling a groan of despair, he sank back on the cot.
“All right, old man,” the conductor responded. “Now, go to sleep. You need rest.” He turned the wick of the lamp down and pushed his lantern into a corner, so that its light would not fall on the face of his guest. Then he slid the bench to the open door, lighted his pipe, and fell into a revery.