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“What’s the matter?” demanded Hawkeye brusquely.

“Bad,” said the man.

A drummer grinned; and an elderly gentleman, from his magazine, looked up inquiringly over his spectacles.

“Bad!” Hawkeye brought his elbow sharply around to focus his lamp on the coin; then he leaned over and rang it on the window sill–only it wouldn’t ring. It was indubitably bad. Hawkeye, however, was dealing with a drunk–and Hawkeye always did have a mean streak in him.

“It’s perfectly good,” he asserted gruffly.

The man rolled an eye at the conductor that mingled a sudden shrewdness and anger, and appealed to his fellow travelers. The verdict was against Hawkeye, and Hawkeye ungraciously pocketed the lead piece and handed over another quarter.

“Shay,” observed the inebriated one insolently, “shay, conductor, I don’t like you. You thought I was–hic!–s’drunk I wouldn’t know–eh? Thash where you fooled yerself!”

“What do you mean?” Hawkeye bridled virtuously for the benefit of the drummer and the old gentleman with the spectacles.

And then the other began to laugh immoderately.

“Same ol’ quarter,” said he. “Same–hic!–ol’ quarter back again. Great system–peanut boy–conductor–hic! Pass it off on one–other passes it off on some one else. Just passed it off on–hic!–peanut boy for a joke. Goin’ to give him a dollar when he comes back.”

“Oh, you did, did you!” snapped Hawkeye ominously. “And you mean to insinuate that I deliberately tried to—-“

“Sure!” declared the man heartily.

“You’re a liar!” announced Hawkeye, spluttering mad. “And what’s more, since it came from you, you’ll take it back!” He dug into his pocket for the ubiquitous lead piece.

“Not–hic!–on your life!” said the man earnestly. “You hang on to it, old top. I didn’t pass it off on you.”

“Haw!” exploded the drummer suddenly. “Haw–haw, haw!”

And the elderly gentleman smiled.

Hawkeye’s face went red, and then purple.

“Go ‘way!” said the man petulantly. “I don’t like you. Go ‘way! Go an’ tell peanuts I–hic!–got a dollar for him.”

And Hawkeye went–but Toddles never got the dollar. Hawkeye went out of the smoking compartment of the parlor car with the lead quarter in his pocket–because he couldn’t do anything else–which didn’t soothe his feelings any–and he went out mad enough to bite himself. The drummer’s guffaw followed him, and he thought he even caught a chuckle from the elderly party with the magazine and spectacles.

Hawkeye was mad; and he was quite well aware, painfully well aware that he had looked like a fool, which is about one of the meanest feelings there is to feel; and, as he made his way forward through the train, he grew madder still. That change was the change from his twenty-dollar bill. He had not needed to be told that the lead quarter had come from Toddles. The only question at all in doubt was whether or not Toddles had put the counterfeit coin over on him knowingly and with malice aforethought. Hawkeye, however, had an intuition deep down inside of him that there wasn’t any doubt even about that, and as he opened the door of the baggage car his intuition was vindicated. There was a grin on the faces of Nulty, MacNicoll and Bob Donkin that disappeared with suspicious celerity at sight of him as he came through the door.

There was no hesitation then on Hawkeye’s part. Toddles, equipped for another excursion through the train with a stack of magazines and books that almost hid him, received a sudden and vicious clout on the side of the ear.

“You’d try your tricks on me, would you?” Hawkeye snarled. “Lead quarters–eh?” Another clout. “I’ll teach you, you blasted little runt!”

And with the clouts, the stack of carefully balanced periodicals went flying over the floor; and with the clouts, the nagging, and the hectoring, and the bullying, that had rankled for close on two years in Toddles’ turbulent soul, rose in a sudden all-possessing sweep of fury. Toddles was a fighter–with the heart of a fighter. And Toddles’ cause was just. He couldn’t reach the conductor’s face–so he went for Hawkeye’s legs. And the screams of rage from his high-pitched voice, as he shot himself forward, sounded like a cageful of Australian cockatoos on the rampage.