East, blustered like a Shanghai rooster, and began to sass the conductor with his chin music.  That gentleman delivered the young aspirant for a muss one of his elegant little left-handers, which so astonished him that he began to feel for his shooter.  Whereupon Mr. Slum gently raised the youth, carried him forth, and set him down just outside the car to cool off.  Whether the young blood has yet made his way out of Bascom’s swamp, we have not learned.  Conductor Slum is one of the most gentlemanly and efficient officers on the road; but he ain’t trifled with, not much.  We learn that the company have put a new engine on the seven o’clock train, and newly upholstered the drawing-room car throughout.  It spares no effort for the comfort of the traveling public.”

Philip never had been before in Bascom’s swamp, and there was nothing inviting in it to detain him.  After the train got out of the way he crawled out of the briars and the mud, and got upon the track.  He was somewhat bruised, but he was too angry to mind that.  He plodded along over the ties in a very hot condition of mind and body.  In the scuffle, his railway check had disappeared, and he grimly wondered, as he noticed the loss, if the company would permit him to walk over their track if they should know he hadn’t a ticket.

Philip had to walk some five miles before he reached a little station, where he could wait for a train, and he had ample time for reflection.  At first he was full of vengeance on the company.  He would sue it.  He would make it pay roundly.  But then it occurred to him that he did not know the name of a witness he could summon, and that a personal fight against a railway corporation was about the most hopeless in the world.  He then thought he would seek out that conductor, lie in wait for him at some station, and thrash him, or get thrashed himself.

But as he got cooler, that did not seem to him a project worthy of a gentleman exactly.  Was it possible for a gentleman to get even with such a fellow as that conductor on the letter’s own plane?  And when he came to this point, he began to ask himself, if he had not acted very much like a fool.  He didn’t regret striking the fellow—­he hoped he had left a mark on him.  But, after all, was that the best way?  Here was he, Philip Sterling, calling himself a gentleman, in a brawl with a vulgar conductor, about a woman he had never seen before.  Why should he have put himself in such a ridiculous position?  Wasn’t it enough to have offered the lady his seat, to have rescued her from an accident, perhaps from death?  Suppose he had simply said to the conductor, “Sir, your conduct is brutal, I shall report you.”  The passengers, who saw the affair, might have joined in a report against the conductor, and he might really have accomplished something.  And, now!  Philip looked at leis torn clothes, and thought with disgust of his haste in getting into a fight with such an autocrat.