"Let her went," replied the brakeman, rising as a matter of course
to follow his chief.

The brakeman was stocky, short, and long armed. In the old fighting
days Michigan railroads chose their train officials with an eye to
their superior deltoids. A conductor who could not throw an
undesirable fare through a car window lived a short official life.
The two men loomed on the noisy smoking compartment.

"Tickets, please!" clicked the conductor sharply.

Most of the men began to fumble about in their pockets, but the
three singers and the one who had been offering the quart bottle
did not stir.

"Ticket, Jack!" repeated the conductor, "come on, now."

The big bearded man leaned uncertainly against the seat.

"Now look here, Bud," he urged in wheedling tones, "I ain't got
no ticket. You know how it is, Bud. I blows my stake." He fished
uncertainly in his pocket and produced the quart bottle, nearly
empty, "Have a drink?"

"No," said the conductor sharply.

"A' right," replied Jack, amiably, "take one myself." He tipped
the bottle, emptied it, and hurled it through a window. The
conductor paid no apparent attention to the breaking of the glass.