would have
happened," declared the man, who was grateful to Mr. Horton for
relieving his pain, but determined to lay his misfortune to some one.
"I'm going into the smoker. Perhaps a man can have a little less fresh
air and a bit more common sense in there."

He tramped angrily away. Sunny Boy looked for the first time at the
boy in the seat ahead, who had been leaning over the back
apologetically, fearful that his open window really had caused the
trouble.

"Why, Joe Brown!" said Sunny Boy.

Joe turned a dull red. He was a boy whom Sunny did not know very well,
and he was a number of years older, twelve or thirteen years old at
least. His mother often did sewing for Mrs. Horton, and Sunny
sometimes saw Joe at Sunday school and at the grocery store where he
sometimes worked after school.

"Hullo, Sunny," said Joe Brown awkwardly. "Where you goin'?"

"To New York," announced Sunny Boy importantly. "Where you going?"

"To New York," was the answer.

"How do you do, Joe?" asked Mr. Horton kindly, coming up to him.
"Taking a trip, too, are you?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Joe. "Going to see my Aunt Annabell in New York."

"Where does she live?" said Mr. Horton with interest. "Perhaps we can
drop you there on our way from the station. Do you plan to stay long?"

Joe Brown fumbled with his cap.

"I don't know just how long I'll stay," he blurted out. "Maybe all
winter. I've got Auntie's address somewhere in my satchel. I know how
to get there all right."

Mr. Horton went back to his seat, but Sunny Boy lingered.

"You're another with 'lations in New York," he observed. "Harold
Wallace has a cousin, and the gentleman on the street car had a
grandson. I wish my Aunt Bessie lived in New York. Have you been there
before?"

"No, I haven't," admitted Joe Brown. "But I guess one city's pretty
much like another. I went to Chicago when I was six. I'm going to see
all the big places when I'm grown up."

"There's Mother motioning to me," said Sunny Boy. "Come on and see
her."

But Joe Brown wouldn't.

"I have to write a letter," he protested hastily.

Sunny Boy went back to his parents. He had an odd feeling that Joe
Brown was not looking forward to seeing New York as much as he, Sunny
Boy, was.

"Is he sick, do you think, Daddy?" he urged, his troubled eyes resting
on Joe, now huddled moodily in his seat and making no pretense of
letter-writing.

"No, he's all right," said Mr. Horton easily. "Come, laddie, we're