"Where do we sleep, Mr. Snowden?" inquired Phil, hoping to get
the car manager in a more gentle frame of mind by changing
the subject.

"Sleep on the roof, sleep in the cellar! I don't care where
you sleep! You get out of here, too, unless you want me to
throw you out!"

"I think you had better not do that, sir." Phil's voice was cool
and pleasant.

"What's that! What's that! You dare to talk back to me.
I'll--"

"Wait a moment, Mr. Snowden. We might as well understand each
other at the beginning."

The car manager's words seemed to stick in his throat. He gazed
at the slender young fellow before him in amazement. Mr. Snowden
was unused to having a man in his employ talk back to him, and
for the moment it looked as though trouble were brewing in the
stateroom of Car Number Three.

"Say it!" he exploded.

"I have very little to say, sir. But what I have to say will
be to the point. I am well aware that discipline must be
preserved here as well as back with the show. I shall always
look up to you as my superior, and treat you in a gentlemanly
and respectful manner. I shall hope that you, also, will treat