He looked about him for the committee.
"There are none of them here," he said feebly.
The president had tried to warn him.
Now he gave way.
The devil that was in him leapt at Andrew's throat.
The young Scotchman was knocked into a goods waggon, with the president twisted round him.
At that moment there was heard the whistle of the Scotch express.
"Your blood be on your own head," cried the president, yielding completely to temptation.
His fingers met round the young man's neck.
"My God!" he murmured, in a delirious ecstasy, "what a neck, what a neck!" Just then his foot slipped.
He fell.

Andrew jumped up and kicked him as hard as he could three times.
Then he leapt to the platform, and, flinging himself into the moving train, fell exhausted on the seat.
Andrew never thought so much of the president again.

You cannot respect a man and kick him..