Sometimes he would get up and pace the aisle until his companion reminded him that this was not certain to hasten the hour of their arrival at their destination.
"I know that," answered the other, "but I've got to beat McCune." "By the way," observed Meredith, "you left your stick behind." "You don't think I need a club to face----" Tom choked.

"Oh, no.

I wasn't thinking of your giving H.Fisbee a thrashing.

I meant to lean on." "I don't want it.

I've got to walk lame all my life, but I'm not going to hobble on a stick." Tom looked at him sadly; for it was true, and the Cross-Roaders might hug themselves in their cells over the thought.