management" to pause in its young career.

"Will you tell me why you carried this woman who had no ticket?"

"No. I have rendered unto Caesar that which is Caesar's. For further
particulars, see my report," and with that Patsy walked out.

"Let's see, let's see," said the "management"; "'Two passengers,
Galesburg to Chicago, one ticket, one cash fare.' What an ass I've made
of myself; but, just wait till I catch that Hawkshaw."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH

"_Always together in sunshine and rain,
Facing the weather atop o' the train,
Watching the meadows move under the stars;
Always together atop o' the cars._"

Patsy was just singing it soft and low to himself, and not even thinking
of the song, for he was not riding "atop o' the cars" now. With his arm
run through the bail of his nickel-plated, white light, he was taking
the numbers and initials of the cars in the Denver Limited. He was a
handsome fellow, and the eight or ten years that had passed lightly over
his head since he came singing himself into the office of the general
manager to ask for a pass over a competing line, had rounded out his
figure, and given him a becoming mustache, but they had left just a
shade of sadness upon his sunny face. The little mother whom he used to
visit at Council Bluffs had fallen asleep down by the dark Missouri, and
he would not see her again until he reached the end of his last run.
And that's what put the shadow upon his sunny face. The white light,
held close to his bright, new uniform, flashed over his spotless linen,
and set his buttons ablaze.

"Ah there, my beauty! any room for dead-heads to-night?"

Patsy turned to his questioner, closed his train-book and held out his
hand: "Always room for the Irish; where are you tagged for?"

"The junction."

"But we don't stop there."

"I know, but I thought Moran might slow her down to about twenty posts,
and I can fall off--I missed the local."

"I've got a new man," said Patsy, "and he'll be a bit nervous to-night,
but if we hit the top of Zero Hill on the dot we'll let you off; if not,
we'll carry you through, and you can come back on No. 4."

"Thank you," said the Philosopher, "but I'm sorry to trouble you."

"And I don't intend you shall; just step back to the outside gate and
flag Mr. and Mrs. Moran, and don't let him buy a ticket for the sleeper;
I've got passes for him right through to the coast."

As the Philosopher went back to "flag,"