"What do you mean by that?" he demanded. Strong, to whom nothing would
have given more joy than a tussle, bent down and peered into the
other's face.

"Is it a man or a monkey?" he piped, and shrieked with laughter.

The man's strained temper broke suddenly and Rex caught him by the arm
as he was about to spring for Strong, and promptly threw himself between
the two.

"Look here, Billy," he remonstrated, "if you fight anybody it's got to
be me," and he spoke over his shoulder to the stranger. "You see what
I'm up against. I'm getting him home--do just go on," and the man went.

But Billy's head was in his guardian's neck and he was spluttering and
sobbing. "Fight you? Nev'--s' help me--nev'--Fight poor, ole fool
Recky--bes' fren' ev' had? No sir. I wouldn' fight you Recky," and he
raised a tear-stained face and gazed mournfully into his eyes. "D'ye
think I'd----"

"Oh, shut up!" Rex ejaculated, "and hold your head up, Billy. You make
me sick."

The intoxicated heavy freight being under way again, Rex looked about
for the rest of the train, but in vain. After a halt of a minute or so
he decided that they were lost and would have to stay lost, the
situation being too precarious, in this land of policemen, with one
hundred and ninety pounds of noisy uncertainty on his hands, to risk any
unnecessary movement. Billy kept every breath of time alive and varied.