“Please, policeman?” she stopped and gulped excitedly—­“please, policeman?—­he doesn’t like to be called that. . . .  It isn’t his fault.  He always throws stones at the bad boys when they call him that.  Call him just ‘Jerry.’”

That gamin, turning from a minute examination of Redmond’s spurred moccasins, began to swing his chubby legs and bounce up and down upon the cushioned seat.

“Her name’s Alice,” he volunteered, with a sidelong fling of his carrot-tinted head.  “Yes! she’s my sister”—­he made a snatch at the pup whose speedy demise was threatened, from blood to the head—­“don’t hold Porkey that way, Alice! his eyes’ll drop out.”

But his juvenile confrere shrugged away from his clutch.  “Stupid!” she retorted, with fine scorn, “no they won’t . . . . it’s on’y guinea pigs that do that!—­when you hold them up by their tails.”  Nevertheless she promptly reversed that long-suffering canine, which immediately demonstrated its gratitude by licking her face effusively.

The all-important question of the hobo was next commended to his attention, with a tremendous amount of chattering rivalry, and, with intense gravity he was cogitating how to render a satisfactory finding to both factions when steps, and the unmistakable rustle of skirts, sounded in his immediate rear.  Then a lady’s voice said, “Oh, there you are, children! . . .  I was wondering where you’d got to.”

The two heads bobbed up simultaneously, with a joyful “Here’s Mother!” and George, turning, glanced with innate, well-bred curiosity at a stout, pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman who stood beside them.

“I hope these young imps haven’t been bothering you?” she said.  “We were in that car behind, but I was reading and they’ve been having a great time romping all over the place.  Oh, well!  I suppose it’s too much to expect children to keep still on a train.”

With a fond motherly caress she patted the two small flaming heads that now snuggled boisterously against her on either side.

“Come now!  Messrs. Bubble and Squeak!” she urged teasingly, “march!—­back to our car again!”

“Bubble and Squeak” seemed appropriate enough just then, to judge by the many fractious objections immediately voiced by those two small mutineers.  They were loth to part with their latest acquaintance and weren’t above advertising that fact with unnecessary vehemence.  Even the puppy raised a snuffling whine.

“Boo-hoo!” wailed Jerry, “don’t want to go in the other car—­me an’ Alice want to stay here—­the policeman’s goin’ to tell us all about hoboes—­he—­”

“Oh, dear!” came a despairing little sigh, “whatever—­”

Their eyes met and, at the droll perplexity he read in hers, George laughed outright.  An explosive frank boyish laugh.  He rose with a courteous gesture.  “I’m afraid it’s a case of ’if the mountain won’t come to Mahomet,’” he began, with gay sententiousness.  “Won’t you sit down?”