Garrison pulled his hat well down over his face, rose negligently, and
entered the next car. He waited there a moment and then returned. He
swung down the aisle. As he approached the girl he saw her draw back.
Strephon's foot was deliberately pressing Chloe's.

Garrison avoided a scene for the girl's sake. He tapped the man on the
shoulder.

"Pardon me. My seat, if you please. I left it for the smoker."

The man looked up, met Garrison's cold, steady eyes, rose awkwardly,
muttered something about not knowing it was reserved, and squeezed in
with two of his companions farther down the aisle.

Garrison sat down without glancing at the girl. He became absorbed in
the morning paper--twelve hours old.

Silence ensued. The girl had understood the fabrication instantly. She
waited, her antagonism roused, to see whether Garrison would try to
take advantage of his courtesy. When he was entirely oblivious of her
presence she commenced to inspect him covertly out of the corners of her
gray eyes. After five minutes she spoke.

"Thank you," she said simply. Her voice was soft and throaty.

Garrison absently raised his hat and was about to resume the defunct
paper when he was interrupted. A hand reached over the back of the seat,
and before he had thought of resistance, he was flung violently down the
aisle.