The Zane Grey Megapack. Zane Grey

closed, ma’am,” returned the porter.

      “Something is most annoying. I am being stung in the face by something sharp,” she declared testily.

      “Beggin’ yo pardon, ma’am, you are mistaken. There’s no flies or muskeeters in my car.”

      “Don’t I know when I’m stung?”

      The porter, tired and crushed, wearily went his way. The stout lady fumed and fussed, and fanned herself with a magazine. Chase knew what was going on and was at great pains to contain himself. Enoch’s solemn owl face was blank, and Havil, who was shooting shot and causing the lady’s distress, bent a pale, ministerial countenance over his paper. Chase watched him closely, saw him raise his head at intervals when he turned a leaf of his paper, but could see no movement of his lips. He became aware, presently, when Havil changed his position, that the attack was now to be directed upon the bald-headed man in the forward seat.

      That individual three times caressed the white spot on his head, and then looking in the air all about him, rang for the porter.

      “Porter, drive the flies out of the car.”

      “There ain’t no flies, sir.”

      “Don’t talk back to me.”

      “You might be from a hotter place than Georgia, sir, fer all I care,” replied the porter.

      “I am annoyed, annoyed. Something has been dropping on my head. Maybe it’s water. It comes dot, dot, like that.”

      “I expect you’re dotty, sir!” said the porter, moving off. “An’ you sure ain’t the only dotty passenger this trip.”

      The bald-headed man resumed his seat. Unfortunately, he was so tall that his head reached above the seat, affording a most alluring target for Havil. Chase, watching closely, saw the muscle along Havil’s jaw contract, and then he heard a tiny thump as the shot struck much harder than usual. The gentleman from Georgia jumped up, purple in the face, and trembled so that his newspaper rustled in his hand.

      “You hit me with something,” he shouted, looking at Thatcher, for the reason, no doubt, that no one could associate Havil’s sanctimonious expression with an untoward act.

      Thatcher looked up in great astonishment from the book in which he had been deeply interested. The byplay had passed unnoticed so far as he was concerned. Besides, he was ignorant of Havil’s genius in the shot-shooting line, and he was a quiet fellow, anyway, but quick in temper.

      “No, I didn’t,” he replied.

      The Southerner repeated his accusation.

      “No, I didn’t, but I will jolt you one,” returned Thatcher, with some heat.

      “Gentlemen, this is unseemly, especially in the presence of ladies,” interposed Havil, rising with the dignity of one whose calling he appeared to represent. “Most unseemly! My dear sir, calm yourself. No one is throwing things at you. It is only your imagination. I have heard of such cases, and fortunately my study of medicine enables me to explain. Sometimes on a heated car a person’s blood will rise to the brain and, probably because of the motion, beat so as to produce the effect of being lightly struck. This is most often the case in persons whose hirsute decoration is slightly worn off—er, in the middle, you know.”

      The gentleman from the South sputtered in impotent rage and stamped off toward the smoking-car.

      “Dinner served in the dining-car ahead,” called out a white-clad waiter; and this announcement hurried off the passengers, leaving the car to the players, who had dined before boarding the train.

      Time lagged then. The porter lit the lights, for it was growing dark; four of the boys went into the smoker to play cards, and the others quieted down. After a while the passengers returned from the diner, and with them the porter, who began making up the berths. Chase watched him with interest.

      “Let’s turn in,” said Enoch. “It’s a long ride and we’ll be tired enough. Some of us must double up, an’ I’m glad we’re skinny.”

      Enoch boosted Chase into the upper berth and swung himself up.

      “Take off your outer clothes,” said Enoch, “an’ be comfortable.”

      Chase found it very snug up there, and he lay back listening to the smooth rush of the train as it sped on into the night. And before long he fell asleep. When he awakened the car was dark, though a faint gray light came through the window above him. He heard somebody walking softly down the aisle and wondered who it could be. The steps stopped.

      Chase heard a sound at his feet, and rose to see an arm withdrawn between the curtains. He promptly punched Enoch in the side. Enoch groaned and rolled over.

      “Some of the boys stealing our shoes,” whispered Chase.

      “It’s the porter wantin’ ’em to shine,” said Enoch sleepily. Then he raised his head and listened. “Yep, it’s the porter. I’m glad you woke me. Now, listen an’ you’ll hear somethin’ funny. Cas always smuggles his bull-pup into the car, an’ hides him from the porter, an’ then puts him to sleep at the foot of the berth. Thet porter will be after Cas’s shoes pretty soon.”

      At intervals of every few moments the porter’s soft slipshod footsteps could be plainly heard. He was making toward the upper end of the car.

      “It’s comin’ to him,” whispered Enoch, tensely.

      A loud, savage, gurgling growl burst out in the stillness, and then yells of terror. A terrific uproar followed. Bumpings and bangings of a heavy body in the aisle; sharp whacks and blows; steady, persistent growling; screams of fright from the awakened women; wild peals of delight from the ball players; above all, the yelling of the porter, these sounds united to make a din that would have put a good-sized menagerie to the blush.

      It ended with the unlucky porter making his escape, and Cas coaxing his determined protector back into the berth. By and by, silence once more reigned in the Pullman.

      Chase, having had his sleep, lay there as long as he could, and seeing it was broad daylight, decided he would crawl over Enoch and get out of the berth. By dint of some extraordinary exertions he got into his clothes and shoes. Climbing over Enoch was no difficult matter, though he did not accomplish it without awakening him. Then Chase parted the curtains, put his feet out, turned and grasped the curtain-pole, and balanced himself momentarily, preparatory to leaping down. The position was awkward for him, and as he loosened his kneehold he slipped and fell. One of his feet went down hard into a very large, soft substance that suddenly heaved like a swelling wave. As Chase rolled into the aisle screams rent the air.

      “Help! Help! Thieves! Murder! Murder! Murder!”

      He had fallen on the fat woman in the lower berth. Chase saw a string of heads bobbing out of the curtains above and below, and he heard a mighty clamour that made the former one shrink by comparison.

      The conductor, brakeman, and porter rushed in. Chase tried to explain, but what with the wails of the outraged lady and the howls of the players it was impossible to make himself heard. He went away and hid in the smoking-car till the train stopped near Stubenville, where they were to change for Wheeling. When the Findlay team had all stepped off the Pullman, leaving the porter enriched and smiling his surprise, it was plain to Chase that he had risen in the regard of his fellow-players.

      “Say, Chase, you’re coming on!”

      “You’ll do, old man!”

      “It was the best ever!”

      “The fire-escape, my lad, is not in a lady’s berth!”

      “Go wan! What you giving us? You kicked her in the stomach just by accident? Go wan!”

      Chase found it impossible to make the boys believe that he had fallen from the upper berth and had stepped on the poor lady unintentionally.

      * * * *

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