sir."

Stuyvesant quickly arose and stepped up the aisle. By this time
everybody was gazing towards the front entrance in concern and
curiosity. The colored waiter was still confronting the soldier as
though to prevent his coming farther into the car. The soldier, with
flushed and sodden face and angry eyes, had placed a hand on the broad
shoulder of the servant and was clumsily striving to put him aside.

Stuyvesant's tall, athletic figure suddenly shut both from view. Never
hesitating, he quickly elbowed the negro out of the way, seized the
doorknob with his left hand, throwing the door wide open, then, looking
the soldier full in the face, pointed to the tourist car with the other.

"Go back at once," was all he said.

The man had been hardly six days in service, and had learned little of
army life or ways. He was a whole American citizen, however, if he was
half drunk, and the average American thinks twice before he obeys a
mandate of any kind. This one coming from a tall young swell was
especially obnoxious.

The uniform as yet had little effect on Recruit Murray. Where he hailed
from the sight of it had for years provoked only demonstrations of
derision and dislike. He didn't know who the officer was--didn't want to
know--didn't care. What he wanted was whiskey, and so long as the money
was burning in his pocket he knew no reason why he shouldn't have it.
Therefore, instead of obeying, he stood there, sullen and swaying,
scowling up as though in hate and defiance into the grave, set young
face. Another second and the thing was settled. Stuyvesant's right hand
grasped the blue collar at the throat, the long, slender fingers
gripping tight, and half shot, half lifted the amazed recruit across the
swaying platform and into the reeling car ahead. There he plumped his
captive down into a seat and sent for the corporal. Connelly came,
rubbing his eyes, and took in the situation at a glance.

"I ordered him not to leave the car three hours ago, sir," he quickly
spoke. "But after supper I got drowsy and fell asleep in my section.
Then he skinned out. I'd iron him, sir, if I had anything of the kind."

"No," said Stuyvesant, "don't think of that. Just keep a watch over him
and forbid his leaving the section. No, sir, none of that," he added, as
in drunken dignity Murray was searching for a match to light his pipe
and hide his humiliation. "There must be no smoking in this flimsy car,
corporal. A spark would set fir