me."

"Wouldn't you even give any of that milk to this poor little puppy?"
suddenly demanded Bess, whose anger at the fat man had been gradually
rising until now, before Nan could stop her, it boiled over.

"Heh? Who are _you_, Miss, if I may inquire?" snapped the fat man.

"It doesn't matter who I am," proclaimed Bess. "I wouldn't take a drop of
that milk from you, anyway. But this poor little puppy is starving."

"Why, I declare!" interrupted Bulson. "That's the little dog I shipped
to Junior."

"It's your own dog, Mr. Bulson," Bess declared. "And he's almost
starved."

"And what are _you_ doing with him?" demanded the fat man, rage suddenly
narrowing his eyes again. "What kind of actions are these?" and he swung
on the members of the train crew once more. "My dog is given to any Tom,
Dick, and Harry that comes along, while I can't get at my own case of
milk. Preposterous!"

The express messenger had received a signal from Mr. Carter, and now
said:

"I tell you what it is, Mr. Bulson; I can't help you out. The matter is
entirely out of my hands. Just before you came in the conductor levied on
all my goods in transit and claimed the right to seize your case of milk
for the benefit of the passengers. You'll have to send in your claim to
our company, and it will get the value of the milk from the railroad
people for you. That's all there is to it."

"What?" roared Mr. Bulson, aghast at these words.

"You heard me," responded the expressman, handing Mr. Carter a hammer and
nail puller.

The conductor kneeled down and proceeded to open the box. The fat
man would have torn his hair only he was bald and there was none he
could spare.

"Get away from that box! get away!" he commanded, fairly dancing about
the car. "Do you know what I'll do? I'll sue the company."

"All right. Begin suit at once," growled Mr. Carter. "Get out an
injunction right away. Don't fret; you'll get your share of the milk with
the rest of us."

"Why, it's _all_ mine," croaked the fat man, hoarse with wrath. "I'll
show you--"

"Go 'way," ordered a burly brakeman, pushing him aside, and stooping to
help pull off the cover of the box. "You ought to be taken out and dumped
in the snow, mister. It would cool you off."

"Come, Bess!" urged Nan, anxiously. "Let's go away. We'll get the milk
for the puppy afterward. I'm afraid there will be trouble."

"I wish they would throw that mean old Bulson into the snow. He deserves
it," Bess retu