“One th’ besh track meets I’ve ever had pleasure attendin’, sir,” he said genially, and sat down and relapsed into grave dignity.

So he remained for five minutes, to the trembling joy of his exhausted guardian, but it was too good to be true.  Suddenly, at Fifty-third Street, he spied a young woman at the other end of the car.  There were not more than nine passengers, so that each person might have had a matter of half a dozen seats a piece, but Strong suddenly felt a demand on his politeness, and reason was nothing to him.  He rose and marched the forty feet or so between himself and the woman, and, standing in front of her, lifted, with some difficulty, his hat.

“Won’t you take my seat, madam?” he inquired, with a smile of perfect courtesy.

The young person was a young person of common-sense and she caught the situation.  She flashed a reassuring glance at Rex, hovering distressed in the background, and shook her head at Strong politely.  “No—­no, thank you,” she said; “I think I can find a seat at this end that will do nicely.”

“Madam, I insist,” Strong addressed her again earnestly.

“No, really,” The young woman was embarrassed, for the eyes of the car were on her.  “Thank you so much,” she said finally; “I think I’d better stay here.”

Strong bent over and put a great hand lightly on her arm.  “Madam, as gen’leman I cannot, cannot allow it.  Madam, you mush take my seat.  Pleash, madam, do not make scene.  ’S pleasure to me, ‘sure you—­greates’ pleasure,” and beneath this courtly urgency the flushed girl walked shamefacedly the length of the almost empty car, and sat down in Strong’s seat, while that soul of chivalry put his hand through a strap and so stood till his ministering angel extracted him from the train at Seventy-second Street.

With a sigh of heartfelt relief, Rex put his arm in the big fellow’s at the foot of the steps.  Freedom must now be at hand, for Billy’s home was in a great apartment building not ten minutes’ walk away.  The culprit himself seemed to realize that his fling was over.

“Raished Cain t’night, didn’ we, ol’ pal?” he inquired, and squeezed Rex’s guiding arm with affection.  “I’ll shay this for you, Rex—­you may be soft-hearted ol’ slob, you may be half-witted donkey—­I’m not denyin’ all that ‘n more, but I’ll shay thish—­you’re the bes’ man to go on a drunk with in—­in—­in The’logican Sem’nary.  I’m not ‘xceptin’ th’——­”

“Shut up, Billy,” remarked Rex, not for the first time that night.  “I’d get myself pulled together a bit if I were you,” he advised.  “You’re going to see your family in a minute.”

“M’ poor fam’ly!” mourned Strong, shaking his head.  “M’ poor fam’ly!  Thish’ll be awful blow to m’ fam’ly, Recky.  They all like so mush to see me sober—­always—­’s their fad, Recky.  Don’t blame ’em, Recky, ’s natural to ’em.  Some peop’ born that way.  M’ poor fam’ly.”