re you had a ticket?"

"Do you think I'd lie about it?"

"Perhaps you lost it before you got into the car."

"No, I didn't. I had it while I sot here. I reckon you lost it when you
stirred up my things. If you hadn't teched 'em, it would have been all
right."

"Well, madam, I want your ticket or your fare."

"But I hain't got no ticket."

"Then give me twelve dollars."

"Twelve dollars!" ejaculated the old lady. "Do you think I'm made of
money?"

"I don't know that I care what you are made of, if you pay your fare."

"But I've spent all my money. I hain't got twelve dollars. Besides, I
don't want to pay twice."

"If you find your ticket, I will give you back your money."

"I tell you I hain't got twelve dollars. You can't hatch wooden eggs."

"Then you must leave the car, madam."

"Leave the car! And not go back to Chicago?"

"I must have your ticket or your fare before we stop next time," said
the conductor, passing on.

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH PHIL IS CHIVALROUS, BUT HAS HIS EYES OPENED.

I thought that the conductor was rather hard on the old lady, though I
was willing to allow that his duty admitted of no compromise.

"Did you ever hear the like on't?" exclaimed the old lady. "Put me out
of the car! He's a mean man, and I hate mean folks wus'n pizen."

"I suppose he has his duty to perform," I mildly suggested.

"'Tain't his duty to put a lone and onprotected woman out of the car;
and he wouldn't do it if my son Charles was here."

I concluded that if her son Charles were there, he would pay her fare,
like a dutiful son as he was. Presently the whistle on the locomotive
sounded, and we heard the scraping of the brakes, as the train prepared
to stop. The conductor promptly appeared, and again demanded her fare
or a ticket. The old lady seemed to be greatly troubled, and I expected
to have the whole seat to myself from this station.

"Suthin must be done!" said the old lady.

"That's so; give me your ticket or the twelve dollars," replied the
official.

"I can't do one nor t'other. I hain't got the money, and my ticket's
gone."

"Very well, madam. Then you must leave the train."

"But I don't know a soul here. Won't you trust me till we get to
Chicago?"

"I don't know you, and we do not give credit for fares."

"Mr. Collingsby, over there, knows me. My son's his pardner in
business."

"Very well, madam; if that is the case, there will be no trouble about
it," added the poli